Sundays were the one day Flower House was closed to walk-ins. Everyone needed a day off now and then—if not two days. However, I often ended up going into work anyway. I wanted to be accommodating if anyone needed a last-minute delivery or, even better, wanted to consult with us about an event. Plus, there was always work to do in the garden and greenhouse.
Today, I’d planned to do more prep work for the café, by gathering and drying rose petals from the greenhouse. At this point, I had no idea if we’d be able to open as planned, but I figured it was best to proceed as if we would. After all, acting as if I already had what I wanted was one of the ways I’d learned to manifest some great things in my life. It was a basic Law of Attraction technique. Fake it till you make it.
After a quick shower, I pulled on some denim overall shorts over a lime green T-shirt and towel-dried my short, bobbed hair. I had a quick bite to eat, then poured some coffee in a to-go mug and hauled Gus out to my car, a bright orange hatchback Fiat. Even on gloomy days, I liked to bring a bit of sunshine wherever I went. Today wasn’t gloomy yet—the morning sun shone brightly. But there was a chance of storms later.
When we arrived at Flower House, I opened the door slowly so the bell wouldn’t jingle too loudly. Gus immediately ran to the back of the shop to sit at the door leading to Calvin’s apartment.
“That’s fine, Gus,” I whispered. “You can wait for him, as long as you’re quiet.” I tried to be respectful of the fact that the place upstairs was Calvin’s home. He was entitled to his privacy.
I set my purse on the kitchen counter and filled Gus’s water bowl. Then, sipping my coffee, I walked slowly around the shop, letting my mind replay the craziness of the day before. I peeked in the café, noting the spot where Bart had sat staring at his phone and the table where the police had conducted interviews. I wandered through the front of the shop, where the college kids had touched all the merchandise and broken a vase.
In the hallway, I paused at the powder room door and looked inside. It was fairly tidy, considering how many people were in the shop yesterday. We didn’t have a cleaning service, so that lovely task fell on my shoulders. Might as well do it now.
I left my coffee beside the cash register, donned a pair of rubber gloves, and then gathered some cleaning supplies from beneath the bathroom sink. As I cleaned and restocked the little room, I kept a sharp eye out for anything unusual—any small clue the police might have missed.
What was the professor doing in here? And those two students too—April and Vince. Were they sneaking a kiss? Or just having a private conversation? From what I observed, they hadn’t acted like lovers. There were no sly looks or secret smiles. If anything, they’d seemed unusually serious. Hmm.
I put the cleaning supplies away and washed my hands. As I stepped out of the bathroom, I looked left and right. Where had the professor gone from here? He didn’t come to the front of the shop—unless he did briefly while I was in the café. Calvin would have kept the door to his apartment locked. Likewise, we kept the doors to the study and to the basement locked. Assuming the professor didn’t go outside, the only other places he could have gone were the orchid room and the kitchen. In fact, Calvin had mentioned seeing him in the orchid room.
Sliding open the pocket doors, I entered that room now and walked around. It was an elegant space, with a high ceiling and large windows on the south wall. Once upon a time, this was probably a drawing room. Now it contained tables and shelves of ten different varieties of orchids, from colorful easy-growing moth orchids and showy lady slippers to fluttery dancing dolls and exotic hybrids.
I checked the water level in the humidifier and turned a few of the plants, examining the health of their leaves and root systems. Grabbing a water bottle from a hidden cabinet, I also misted some of the leaves. As I strolled around the room, I marveled at how I’d ended up here in the first place. I’d never had any formal training as a florist. I’d never even considered myself much of a green thumb. Still, I must’ve picked up a thing or two from Granny over the years. And Felix had patiently showed me how to work with different colors and shapes to create balanced and interesting floral arrangements. Beyond that, I relied on instinct and intuition to come up with designs I found pleasing. Fortunately, others seemed to agree.
From the orchid room, I moved on to the kitchen. Gus watched me to make sure I wasn’t going to leave the house, but he stayed at his station in the hallway.
Though there was still a stove, a refrigerator, and a large double sink, the kitchen was really more of a workroom than anything else. One wall held a glass refrigerator case for fresh flowers, while the other walls featured cabinets and drawers filled with florist supplies. In the center of the room, a large butcher-block table served as our work surface. On the floor at one end of the table was a tall, round garbage bin for all the stems, leaves, and other trimmings we regularly produced. It was empty now. After the police found the murder weapon in the bin, they’d taken the whole bag away with them.
I placed a new plastic bag in the bin, as I scanned the room. Nothing seemed out of place. For the heck of it, I tried the basement door. Yep. Still locked. Then I turned to the closed door in the far corner of the kitchen. It led to the storeroom. Taking a deep breath for courage, I reached over the yellow police tape, turned the doorknob, and gently pushed the door open. Staying behind the tape, I reached in and flipped on the light.
It was a deep, narrow room, formerly a walk-in pantry. Shelving from the center of the walls to the ceiling contained extra vases, baskets, and orchid supplies, including fertilizer, pots, potting media, and grow lights. On the floor beneath the shelves were boxes and crates, some empty, some filled with wire frames and other floristry materials we didn’t use every day.
Of course, there was no chalk outline on the floor. I’d learned from the last death investigation here that cops only do that in the movies. Chalk could contaminate the scene and isn’t even necessary. In real life, the police usually just take a bunch of pictures.
Anyway, I didn’t need a chalk outline to remember where the body was. That image was emblazoned into my brain forever.
I roved the room with my eyes. What had Lowry been looking for in here? Maybe nothing. Maybe he’d been hiding or having a secret rendezvous with one of the students. I peered into the corners, again vainly hoping I’d spot a clue. No such luck. The police had done a clean sweep of the room.
Closing the door, I thought again about how the professor had looked when he came into Flower House. He’d had a canteen slung over his shoulder. Yet there was no canteen next to him when we’d found his body. I was sure of it.
I wonder … Thinking again about the bathroom, I remembered Granny had said the window was open. She’d shut it when we were looking for Gus. Could the professor have dropped or thrown his canteen out the window? It would be an odd thing to do, but I had to look.
Leaving Gus inside, I slipped out the back door and circled around to the side of the house. Landscaped shrubs bordered the long driveway, which separated the Flower House property from the grounds of the historical society next door. Directly beneath the bathroom window was a clump of overgrown juniper bushes. I examined the top of the bushes, then dropped to my hands and knees to look underneath.
There was no canteen. I kept looking anyway, hoping to find a cigarette butt or a crumpled note—anything to shed some light on what the professor or his students had been up to. I was about to give up when my persistence was rewarded. I spotted a tiny white circle of paper stuck to a branch of the bushes. Picking it off, I saw that it was a sticker: Made in the U.S.A. Before I could wonder where it had come from, I spotted something even more exciting: half a footprint in a patch of mud beside the house. Beyond this small section of bare earth was a grassy stretch of lawn, so there was no hope of finding further footprints. But this was definitely one—or part of one. And it must have been made relatively recently.
“Find anything?”
The voice startled me, though I quickly realized it was Calvin. I crawled backward and looked up, squinting at him in the sun. He appeared to be amused.
“How did you find me?” I asked.
“I didn’t. Gus did.”
Shielding my eyes, I now saw that Calvin was holding onto Gus’s leash, preventing the pup from jumping on me. That was a good idea. As far as the corgi was concerned, why else would I be crawling on the ground if not to play?
Calvin held out a hand to me. I accepted and let him help me to my feet, while Gus barked excitedly. I shushed Gus and showed Calvin the sticker.
“I found this in the bush.”
He took the sticker from me and read it out loud. “‘Made in the U.S.A.’” Frowning, he shook his head. “That’s not right.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
He gestured to the shrub behind me. “This is a Chinese juniper.” Then he broke into a goofy grin. “The sticker lies.”
“Very funny.” I grinned in spite of myself, as I plucked the sticker out of Calvin’s fingers. “Actually, I wondered if this might have come off of Professor Lowry’s canteen.” I showed Calvin the partial footprint and told him my theory about the professor dropping his canteen out the window—and someone else retrieving it later.
“You think the police found it?” he asked.
“It’s possible, but I don’t think so. If they’d found it, I think they would have asked me if I recognized it.”
“You’re probably right,” he conceded.
“We should call them now. Can I borrow your phone? I left mine inside.”
He handed me his cell phone, and I pulled up the number for the Aerieville police station. When the desk sergeant answered, I explained briefly why I was calling. She said she’d pass along the message to the investigators.
I looked at the partial footprint again, pondering what information it might hold. Because it wasn’t complete, I couldn’t get a good sense of the size. I couldn’t even tell what kind of shoe had made it, other than one with treads.
“We should take a picture of this,” I said. “Could we use your phone again?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Calvin handed me Gus’s leash and pulled out his phone.
As he squatted down to take the picture, it struck me that we made a pretty good team. My mind roamed back to the night before, and I felt a fuzzy warmth at the memory. What would have happened if Gus hadn’t interrupted us? Then I thought of something else.
“Hey! Last night, when Gus heard something outside, maybe that was somebody out here looking for the canteen.”
Calvin stood up and looked at me, as a small smile tugged his lips. Was he remembering the moment we shared too? Then he crinkled his forehead and looked away. “Hmm.”
“What is it?”
“I just remembered something. When I saw Steve in the orchid room, I thought his face seemed a little flushed. And his stance was oddly loose and relaxed. Maybe there was alcohol in the canteen.”
“Oh, wow. That could be important, couldn’t it? Did you tell Chief Bradley?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t know about the canteen at the time, and it had slipped my mind. I guess she had me a little rattled.”
“Well, I suppose the autopsy will reveal if anything was in his system.”
“Yeah, that’s true.”
Gus was tired of waiting and tugged on his leash. Calvin took it from me and strolled around the yard. I brushed off my pants and went back inside long enough to grab my purse (where I stashed the small sticker) and a large, plastic container. The other tools I needed were already in the greenhouse.
The glass building that dominated the rear portion of the land behind Flower House was divided into two climate-controlled rooms: one for tropical plants, including orchids and ferns, and one exclusively for roses. The rose room was cooler, which offered a welcome respite from the summer sun. Though it was still early, it was already shaping up to be a hot day.
Entering the rose room was always a feast for the senses. Surrounded by healthy plants bursting with soft-colored blooms, I had to pause, close my eyes, and inhale the luscious fragrance. Mmm. Romance, enchantment, beauty … so many lovely feelings brought about by the scent alone.
I grabbed a bucket from the floor and clippers from a wall hook and proceeded down the concrete aisles. As a rule, it was best to pick fresh flowers early in the morning, when the stems were most firm and hydrated. But that didn’t matter as much in the greenhouse, where a misting system kept the plants from drying out. My aim now was to select flowers that had fully opened and were still in their prime. Of course, we had been harvesting roses all summer, for both bouquets and for the petals. We’d made several jars of rose petal jam for the café and prepared dried petals for teas and other recipes. I planned to collect more petals today to add to our supply.
I snipped about a dozen stems and brought my collection to the workbench at the end of the center row. On a shelf under the bench was a stack of large trays. I set one on the table, then pulled up a tall stool and got to work. One flower at a time, I grasped the top of each stem and gently removed the entire head of the rose. Using my fingers, I carefully separated the soft petals and spread them in a single layer on the tray.
I had done only a couple of flowers when I heard the greenhouse door bang open. A minute later, Calvin and Gus joined me at the workbench.
“Want some help?” asked Calvin.
“Sure! There were more ready to pick than I’d expected.”
Calvin opened the gate to a small pen we’d created in the corner, and Gus went right in. He knew this was his special area. It was padded with an old rope rug and outfitted with plenty of dog toys and treats. It was a convenient way to keep Gus out of trouble.
I moved the bucket of roses within Calvin’s reach and brought out another drying tray. He sat on a stool on the other side of the workbench. Between the two of us, we made short work of removing all the petals.
Calvin was unusually quiet. I was sure he was thinking about the professor’s death and its aftermath. Maybe it was naïve of me to carry on as if nothing had happened, but I didn’t know what else to do. To distract Calvin, I kept up a steady stream of chatter.
“Hey, I have an idea to run by you.”
“Shoot.”
“What do you think about creating little info cards about edible flowers? We could keep a stack in the café and hand one out with every purchase.”
“Go on.”
“Well, in addition to having our business info, the cards could list the most common edible flowers—and also include a big warning about not eating any ol’ flowers, since some are poisonous.”
“Good idea. We should also tell folks not to eat any flowers that have been sprayed with pesticides—which would include most flowers they get at a traditional florist.”
“Yes! Absolutely. And that gives us an opportunity to let them know our roses are all certified organic.”
He smiled at my enthusiasm. “Good thinking.”
“I’ll ask Deena to mock up the cards. She’s good at that sort of thing.” Prior to moving back to Aerieville, Deena had been a long-time student in Chicago. She liked to call herself a “perpetual scholar,” but I secretly felt she was just searching for her calling. Among her many degrees, she’d studied anthropology, fashion, business, and communications. She’d been working toward a doctorate in business administration when her fiancé left her—providing the impetus for her to leave the city and her school behind. She said she was happier now. And I was sure happy to have her here.
“You’re pretty creative too,” said Calvin. “Take your window display. It’s very, um, unique.” He had a teasing glint in his eye, which made me grin.
“Thank you!” I batted my eyelashes at him, before brushing all our stems back into the bucket. “To tell you the truth, I sometimes feel a little inferior since I didn’t finish college. And, to think, between you and Deena, I’ve surrounded myself with over-educated—I, mean, highly educated—smart people.”
He narrowed his eyes at me in mock annoyance. “There’s no such thing as too much education. Hey, maybe you’ll want to finish your degree someday. What were you studying?”
We’d both stood up and pushed our stools in. I carried one tray to a ledge along the wall, where the petals could dry out in the sun. “Um, I was undeclared.”
He brought over another tray and set it next to mine. “Couldn’t decide, huh?”
“Nope. But I believe in education too. It’s called the school of life.” I faced him with a playful smirk and waited expectantly.
He raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth, but I didn’t get to hear his comeback. At that moment, there was a loud rapping on the greenhouse door.
Calvin frowned. “I’ll get it.”
Gus had started barking, so I went ahead and leashed him. We followed quickly behind Calvin. When we reached the exit, we found Calvin outside talking to Flo Morrison, co-owner of the bakery next door. She was neatly attired in slacks and a poplin blouse, calling to mind Martha Stewart in the kitchen. As usual, she wore her pale silver hair in a bun at the back of her neck.
“Hi, Flo.” I stepped outside, shutting the greenhouse door behind me. “How are you?”
“I’m doing well. I saw your car and figured you were back here.” She lowered her chin and looked over her glasses to give me an appraising look. “I stopped by to see how you’re holding up.”
“She brought us cinnamon rolls,” said Calvin, holding up a paper bag.
“How sweet.” I paused, selecting my words carefully. Flo and her husband Bill were pillars of the community. Besides running Bread n’ Butter Bakery for many years, they were active in just about every organization in town, from church and civic groups to Aerieville’s tiny little arts council. I used to get along with them just fine, until I learned they wanted to drive me out of business. They coveted the Flower House property for their own purposes. When I accepted Felix’s offer and decided to keep the shop running, they were none too pleased. They were even less enamored of me when they found out I planned to open a café. Now, every time I saw Flo, her pleasantries rang false. It was just a mite awkward.
“Had a bit of excitement around here yesterday, didn’t we?” I said.
She arched her eyebrows. “‘A bit of excitement’? Isn’t that a bit of an understatement?”
“Well—”
“You must have been knocked for a loop,” said Flo, cutting me off. “To think, you found a dead man in your kitchen! How ghastly that must have been.”
“He was in the storeroom, not the kitchen,” I said lamely. She continued to stare at me, until I added, “Which was bad enough.”
“Weren’t you planning on opening your little café next weekend? I suppose you’ll not be able to now.” She gave me a look I assumed was meant to convey compassion. “What a shame.”
“I haven’t actually decided yet. We might be able to go ahead as planned.”
“Oh? Have the police caught the murderer?”
“Uh, I’m not sure. But—”
“I just can’t believe it,” she said, cutting me off again. “Another murder at Flower House. What are the odds? It almost makes you wonder if the place is cursed. Like somebody up there doesn’t want you to stay open.” She looked upward to the sky, then simpered, as if she were only joking.
“It’s terrible, that’s for sure,” I muttered. Then I caught Calvin’s eye and had to struggle to keep from laughing. He had stepped behind Flo and was making faces to mimic her saccharine expression.
The sound of tires crunching on the gravel driveway made us all turn our heads. It was a police car.
“Oh, good,” I said. “They’re probably here to remove the yellow tape from the storeroom. Excuse me, Flo.”
I thought she would leave. Instead, she made a move as if to join me. “I’d like to hear what they have to say,” she said. “I need to know if the neighborhood is safe.”
I narrowed my eyes but held my tongue. In my mind, I was growling like Gus when another dog encroaches on his territory. I couldn’t exactly blame Flo for her concern, but she didn’t have to act so gleeful about the situation.
We started across the yard, but the police officers saw us and met us by the garden. It was Chief Bradley and Officer Dakin.
“Good morning,” I said. “Would you like to take another look inside?” I started to head for the back door, hoping they would follow. I really wanted to go inside. Flo was making me nervous.
“Actually, we’re here to speak to Mr. Foxheart,” said Chief Bradley. Her voice was pleasant but firm.
“Calvin?” I said.
“Again?” he said.
“Mr. Foxheart, we have a few more questions for you. Would you please come with us to the station?”
Calvin visibly swallowed before nodding his head slowly. Flo didn’t even try to cover her smirk.
Gus whimpered quietly—echoing my sentiments exactly.