Tuesday morning, Gus and I headed to Flower House for a quick stop before driving up to Granny’s place. I planned to pop in the store just long enough to help open up and make sure Deena and Calvin would be okay on their own for a bit. However, when we arrived, I found a surprise out front: a UT van parked along the quiet street. For a split second, I had an unwelcome flashback to Saturday morning. Then I saw who was waiting on the front steps: Professor Sheila Washington.
With a slight twinge of dread, I parked behind the van and hurried up the sidewalk with Gus trotting at my side. To my relief, she greeted us with a friendly, if somewhat guarded, smile.
“Good morning,” she said, rising from the steps. “The kids all slept in this morning, so I decided to take a little drive and ended up here. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all! Come on in.”
I unlocked the front door and flipped on the lights. As I unleashed Gus, freeing him to perform his routine sniffing inspection around the shop, Sheila stood in the foyer and gazed around.
“Would you like to have a seat in the café?” I asked. “It’s not officially open yet, but I can make us some coffee or tea.”
“Coffee would be great.” She continued looking around, her eyes lingering on the hallway beyond the checkout counter.
Turning to her, I spoke gently. “Would you like to see where it happened?”
She rubbed a hand over her short hair before nodding. “I have to admit, I am a little curious.”
“I don’t blame you. Follow me.” I gave her a quick tour of the shop, pointing out the powder room and orchid room and finishing in the kitchen. “There’s the storeroom,” I said, pointing to the closed door, still blocked with yellow tape. I moved to turn the knob, but she stopped me with a soft cry.
“Never mind! I’m good. No need to give myself a visual, destined to show up later in my nightmares.”
I gave her a sympathetic smile. “I understand.” I wished I hadn’t seen it myself.
We retreated to the café, where I made coffee and small talk. We’d just sat down, when Deena came in and said hello before busying herself in the kitchen. At one point, I heard Calvin come downstairs and whistle for Gus. I assumed he wasn’t too keen on facing his former colleague, even if they hadn’t crossed paths very often.
Sheila seemed to be warming to me. She asked me how I came to be a florist, and I asked her about her decision to become a teacher. After sharing her background, she admitted she enjoyed working in the field more than in the classroom. “That’s partly why I agreed to co-lead this trip.”
“I’m so sorry,” I murmured.
She nodded ruefully and took a sip of coffee.
Casting for a change of subject, I asked her if she saw the students when they came in last night. “I ran into them at Cuties’,” I told her. “They seemed to be having a good time.”
“That’s good. I was already in bed when they got in.” With a slight shrug, she added, “I’ve concluded that they don’t need to be chaperoned twenty-four seven.”
I smiled to show I agreed. “They are technically adults.”
“That they are.”
Recalling the scholarship tidbit she’d dropped, I wondered what else she might know about them. “They must be pretty serious students too,” I ventured. “April mentioned something about working on outside projects with Professor Lowry.”
“I suppose,” she said noncommittally.
“I think she said only the best students were allowed to work on special projects with him?”
Sheila snorted, then quickly covered her mouth. “Sorry. Steve seemed to have his favorites, it’s true. I’m not sure I’d call them the ‘best’ students, in terms of their grades. But they all had something else in common. An eagerness, I suppose. A determination to beat the odds they’d been handed.”
“Ambition?” I added, thinking of April’s mention of “being in charge.”
“Yeah. Some of them have that.”
“April seems to hold her own among the boys,” I continued. “That’s nice to see, especially in a field traditionally dominated by men.”
Sheila looked thoughtful. “That girl is tougher than she looks. And…” She trailed off, as if trying to decide how much she should say.
“Maybe a little cunning?” I prompted. I had the impression April knew how to play up her innocent appearance to her advantage.
“Possibly.” Sheila nodded. “She can come across as somewhat flighty, but she’s a smart one. I once saw her take the lead in a group assignment, where she delegated all the tasks to the other group members. She did it in such a natural, almost cute way, that no one questioned her.” She chuckled at the memory. “She’s one to watch, I’ll say that much.”
I gathered she meant it as a compliment—April as a promising student with a bright future. But the student had a devious streak.
“For sure,” I agreed. One to watch indeed.
It was still early when Sheila left and Gus and I hopped back into the car. And it was a beautiful day to get outside. A drive into the mountains always brought up feelings of nostalgia for me. This was the way we went “over the river and through the woods” every holiday growing up. Back then, it wasn’t just “to Grandmother’s house,” but Grandpap’s house too. With seven sets of aunts and uncles (my mom’s siblings and in-laws) and oodles of cousins, Granny’s homestead was the liveliest place I knew.
Over time, though, the numbers dwindled. While we’d still come out here for get-togethers now and then, it wasn’t the same. A lot of times, like today, I’d make the fifteen-mile trek all by myself and find the place as quiet and peaceful as a nature preserve. Granny’s homey farmhouse and verdant land were like an oasis of calm in the hustle-bustle of the modern world.
After parking near her house, I found Granny in her large vegetable garden, stooped over a patch of leafy green bean plants. She stood up, hands on her lower back, as I approached.
“Well, howdy, Sierra. You shoulda told me you was comin’. I’da put the kettle on.”
“Hi, Granny,” I said cheerily. “I tried calling, but you didn’t answer.”
She pulled a cell phone from her apron pocket and squinted at it in the sunlight. “So, you did. I’m all a fuddle this mornin’.”
I tied Gus to the clothesline pole, on a chain left over from dogs of yore, then got to work picking beans on the other end of the row.
“Can’t believe I missed the signs,” Granny said. “I shoulda known company was comin’. First I dropped a dishrag. Then I dropped a spoon.”
“Or maybe you just have butter fingers,” I teased. “After all, I’m not really company.”
Granny chuckled. “If I do, it’s Wanda’s fault. She’s got me all in a tither.”
“Why? Did something happen?”
“Never mind,” she said. “I’m glad you’re here. You can help me snap these beans and get ’em canned.”
“I’m happy to help. And anything else you need doing.”
We finished cleaning out the row of beans and gathered a bucket of warm, ripe tomatoes. Then we sat on Granny’s open-air back porch, she in a rocker and me on the swing, and snapped the beans.
I couldn’t believe she was going to do this all by herself. Then again, Granny had been independent for a long time. In spite of my mom’s constant pleas for her to sell the house and move to town, Granny steadfastly refused.
“What day is this anyway?” said Granny. “Tuesday? Shouldn’t you be at the flower shop?”
“I can step out for a couple of hours,” I said. “This is a slow month for florists anyway.” That was true. With Mother’s Day over and wedding season winding down, not to mention the fact that many folks grew flowers in their own backyards, we had far fewer orders this time of year. That was part of the reason we’d timed our café opening for the middle of summer. We figured we’d have more time to get it up and running, plus we could use the business. So much for that.
Granny glanced over at me. “Well, looky there. A yeller bee landed on your arm.”
“Oh!” I flapped my arm and the bee flew off, though it still hovered nearby. “I know bees are good, but I don’t want to be stung.”
“It’s not gonna sting you,” said Granny. “That’s a good luck bee. You’re going to get good news soon.”
I grinned in amusement. “That sure would be nice.”
After a bit of chit chat, I tried to steer the conversation back to Wanda by asking how she was doing. “The police haven’t been bothering her, have they? I don’t know what they’re doing with their investigation. They’ve been keeping me in the dark.”
“It’s not the law that’s been pestering Wanda,” Granny said soberly.
“What do you mean?”
She shook her head, apparently unwilling to say more. Granny’s stubbornness was in fine form today.
“By the way,” said Granny, “there hasn’t been any trouble at Flower House, has there? Like last time?”
I knew what she meant. Following the last murder, there were some incidents that Granny attributed to the victim’s ghost. She’d given me all kinds of tips and protections to put the spirit to rest.
“No, not this time.” As soon as I said it, I remembered the night of the storm: the power outage, the person outside my window, and the rumpled flowers on my stoop. Did those count as “trouble”?
We finished with the beans and brought them inside to Granny’s kitchen, where she already had all her canning equipment set out. We added the beans to two big pots on the stove, covered them with water, and mixed in vinegar, sugar, and salt.
“It’s goin’ to get hot in here,” said Granny. “Let’s sit in the living room while we wait for the pots to boil.”
I brought Gus inside and gave him a bowl of water, while Granny poured us some iced tea. Settling down on her sofa, I noticed she had some photo albums laid out on a cloth-covered round table in the corner.
“Are you goin’ through old pictures?” I asked.
“Yes, in a way.”
I got up to take a look. The album on top seemed to be from the 1970s, when my mom was a little girl. But the opened pages featured a bunch of unfamiliar people, apparently friends and neighbors. There was one empty pocket with the photo missing.
“Ah,” I said, suddenly putting two and two together. I turned to Granny and tapped on the album. “You’re doing a working for someone. And since you said Wanda had you in a tither this morning, I’m betting it’s for her. Am I right?”
Granny was known far and wide for her skills as a folk healer and herbalist. Sometimes this meant making tinctures and sachets filled with medicinal herbs and sundries. Other times it involved a little more superstition.
“Oh, alright.” She stood up and joined me at the table. “You should’ve been a sleuth. Since you figured it out, I guess I ought to tell you.”
“Is Wanda okay?”
“That’s a loaded question,” she said dryly. “Wanda thinks she’s being haunted.”
Oh, no. Did that mean she really did kill the professor? I held onto the edge of the table. “By who?”
“Her dead husband, Roy.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s good. I mean, that’s odd, right? Didn’t he die a long time ago?”
“Yes, he did. Had a heart attack ten years ago. Well, ten years next week. It happened the day before their wedding anniversary.”
“Aw, that’s sad.”
“Even more so since they weren’t exactly on speaking terms at the time. She thought they’d reconcile, but they never got the chance.”
“Poor Wanda. But why does she think she’s being haunted now?”
Granny sighed. “To tell the truth, I’m not entirely sure she is. She’s been acting kind of confused lately. She says she’s seen him and heard his voice. Maybe she has. Anyway, I’m going to try to help her.”
I remembered how Wanda had seemed a little confused when Calvin and I encountered her on the sidewalk, shortly after we’d found the professor’s body. Was she really coming from the park, as she’d said? Or had she just come out of the house a few minutes before we did, like Bart said?
“How are you going to help her?” I asked.
“I went to her house yesterday and made sure we had the basics covered—planted rue in her yard, hung dried basil over her doors and windows, and other such protections.” Granny wandered into the kitchen to check on the green beans, then returned with a piece of meat for Gus.
“Wasn’t that good enough for Wanda?” I asked. I still didn’t understand what the problem was.
“Well, we’re just not seeing eye to eye on this. I told her Roy probably wants to make peace. In that case, she should leave some offerings and honor his spirit. But she thinks he’s angry at her. She just wants to make him go away.”
“That’s too bad.” I glanced down at the photo album again.
Granny moved the albums over and picked up a picture from underneath. She handed it to me. “This is Wanda and Roy on their wedding day.”
I studied the snapshot for a moment. Wanda was a pretty little thing with flowers in her hair. Her husband, Roy, was skinny and much taller—at least a head and a half taller than Wanda. I couldn’t help wondering how she’d managed to clock him with a frying pan. He must’ve been sitting down or leaning over. Or maybe she just swung her arm up high.
Granny opened a different album and pulled out another photo. “Here’s what he looked like when he was older,” she said. “You can tell he was a drinker.”
In the second photo, he was still tall and skinny, though he’d developed a pot belly. His cheeks and nose were ruddy, and, from his goofy grin, he almost looked drunk in the photo. But the thing that really caught my attention was his prominent white goatee: a feature that made him look remarkably like one Professor Steve Lowry.
I helped Granny fill her canning jars, adding a dollop of bacon grease to each one for flavor. Then I stayed back and watched while she handled the pressure-cooker part of the proceeding. I would have been intimidated to do it myself, but Granny was a pro. While the beans cooked, Granny made up a platter of tomato mayo sandwiches and brought out a bowl of corn salad from the refrigerator. We went out to the back porch to eat.
After seeing the photo of Wanda’s late husband, I hadn’t known what to think. I’d told Granny about Roy’s resemblance to the deceased professor, thinking maybe that was why she’d yelled at him in the first place. Granny didn’t seem to think there was anything to it. She said she’d keep an eye on Wanda, and I wasn’t to worry about it.
I couldn’t help feeling Granny didn’t want to ponder the implications any more than I did.
After lunch, I asked Granny if there were any more chores I could do for her. She was shaking her head no, when my cell phone rang. I took a peek at it and saw that it was an unfamiliar number. I was going to ignore it, but Granny said I should answer it.
“Remember the bee,” she said. “It could be good news.”
I shrugged. “Okay.” But when I answered, I regretted that decision. It was Nell Cusley, the town gossip queen.
“Oh, Sierra, good,” she said. “I finally reached you. I’ve been trying for days.”
Rolling my eyes, I went back inside and paced around Granny’s living room. “I’m sorry, Nell. Things have been kinda hectic lately.”
“I know, I know. I heard all about it. But my niece Sue Ellen is getting married this weekend, and I want you to do the flowers.”
You could’ve knocked me over with a daisy chain. “Oh? Well, that’s real nice, but it’s kind of short notice.”
“I know. It’s crazy. They were going to elope, but the family wants a wedding, so we’re going to make it happen. The flowers are my gift to the bride and groom. We’ll need an arch trellis, a bridal bouquet, and three bridesmaids’ bouquets. Plus all the corsages and boutonnieres. The colors are peach and yellow. Oh, and Sue Ellen’s favorite flowers are buttercups, so we need to fit those in somehow.”
As Nell chattered on, I grabbed a piece of paper and pencil from Granny’s end table and jotted down some notes. Under normal circumstances, we’d be approached about a wedding months in advance—at a minimum. But I wasn’t about to turn down the business. Not if I could help it. I would make this work if I had to go out and pick all the flowers myself.