Well, this was a fine pickle. How was I going to reassure Granny—and everyone else for that matter—that we were all perfectly safe and in no danger of dropping dead, without straight-up contradicting Granny’s beliefs? I never want to disrespect my elders.
When Calvin joined us in the café room, after safely helping the bird fly out the window, Granny repeated her dire pronouncement. We all stared at one another without saying a word. Even Gus watched me expectantly. I reached down and absently petted his head.
“Now, Granny,” I finally said, as gently as I could. “Surely, it’s not a hard and fast rule. Maybe sometimes a bird is a portent, and other times it’s just an unfortunate bird. Don’t you think?”
Setting her jaw, she spoke in a low, sepulchral tone. “A bird flew in the window of Aunt Dottie’s bedroom. Twelve hours later, she was dead.”
“That was probably a coincidence,” I insisted. “Wasn’t she in her nineties and suffering from diabetes?”
“When I was a girl,” Granny continued, “a bird flew in a window at my grandpappy’s cabin. A week later, he was dead.”
Deena and Calvin looked to me for my response. I racked my brain. There must have been plenty of times where a bird flew into a house without dooming any of its occupants. Why couldn’t I think of a single example?
Granny wasn’t finished. “Frank’s cousin’s wife’s brother—”
“Okay,” I interrupted, placing my hand on Granny’s. I had to put a stop to this. “How about if we counteract the bad luck? Maybe we can cancel it out with some good luck.”
She brightened slightly. “It can’t hurt, I suppose. You ought to put a horseshoe above the front door. I’ll make flannel herb bags for everyone. In the meantime, we can mix salt and red clay and crumble some in our shoes.”
“Good,” I said, clapping the table and ignoring Deena’s raised eyebrow. “We have a plan.”
Wanda left for her hair appointment, and the rest of us had a bite to eat. Then Granny went outside to dig some clay and tend the garden, while Deena and I made flower arrangements in the kitchen.
Calvin planned to work outside as well. As he passed by me on his way to the back door, I reached out to touch his arm.
“Hey, Calvin?”
He met my eyes and gave me a reassuring smile. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”
“Thanks.” I dropped my hand and grinned at his retreating back. Apparently, we were on the same wavelength.
The next hour passed quietly. Almost too quietly. The phone didn’t ring once. That’s not to say we didn’t have interruptions. Granny kept coming in and out. First she came in for a container of salt, then she returned with her salt-clay mixture. She made us all remove our shoes, so she could sprinkle in her protective concoction. It didn’t bother me much, since I was wearing socks and sneakers. Deena, on the other hand, wore sandals today. She grimaced as Granny coated the inner soles of her sandals, but she refrained from complaining. We all wanted Granny to have peace of mind.
After that, Granny still found excuses to come inside, whether to use the bathroom, get a drink, or borrow the phone to call my mom. Each time, she surveyed the kitchen for lurking dangers and cautioned us to be careful with every little sharp thing: floral scissors, shears, thorns. After the last interruption, I called Mom myself and filled her in on the situation.
“Good grief,” she said. “I’ll come and pick her up and bring her to Dumbbells for a while. I’ll tell her I need her advice about an ant problem we have. Which is true, actually.”
As a former cheerleader, current aerobics instructor, and co-business owner, my mom was firmly grounded in the practical and the physical. She didn’t share either Granny’s superstitions or my New Agey notions. Sometimes it was a source of friction. Other times, like now, it was a relief.
By three o’clock, Deena and I were alone in the quiet kitchen once more, putting the finishing touches on all our outstanding flower orders.
“What else do we need for Saturday?” she asked, referring to the grand opening of our café.
“I think we’re pretty much set,” I said. “Except for the centerpieces. I was thinking each table should have a small flower arrangement. Maybe colorful carnations in little glass jars?”
“Good idea. They hold up well, don’t they?”
A loud tap on the back door broke into our conversation. I peered through the window and saw that it was Bart Hammerson with the bi-weekly shipment from our wholesaler, Pauly’s Plants. Although Felix often sourced flowers from local growers (and cultivated some himself), there were some varieties that could only be imported. For as long as I could remember, it was Bart who dropped off these deliveries. Gruff, taciturn, stony-faced Bart.
I’d once asked Felix why Bart always seemed to have a chip on his shoulder. Felix had laughed. “Does he? What do you want him to do, come in singing a song?” Felix only cared that Bart was fast and reliable.
Over the past few months, since I’d taken over Flower House, I’d been trying to get the delivery man to open up. I’d been extra friendly, making small talk and offering him water and snacks. And it seemed to be working. The last two times, he’d seemed to soften a bit. Once he even cracked a joke.
Today, however, he seemed to be back in his usual sour mood.
“Hey there, Bart!” I held the door open wide and stepped back as he carried in a crate and set it on the floor by the cabinets. “How are you today?”
“Eh,” he grunted.
“What’s the matter? Too hot for you? At least last week’s heat wave is over. The rain last night cooled things off nicely.” When in doubt, talk about the weather.
Bart grunted again, then went out to his truck for another crate.
“Talkative guy,” said Deena once he was out of earshot.
I shrugged. “Our interactions are usually pretty one-sided. I’m determined to draw him out, though. It’s only a matter of time.”
“Maybe he’s just the strong, silent type,” Deena suggested.
“Hmm,” I said thoughtfully. “I wonder if he’s married.”
Deena gaped at me. “You’re interested in Bart? He’s got to be at least forty, don’t you think?”
I peeked out the window to see Bart standing by his truck and glaring at his phone. He was stocky and nearly bald, with closely cropped fair hair and a farmer’s tan. I couldn’t really guess how old he was. His face was perpetually lined from all the frowning.
I turned back to Deena. “No. I’m not interested in him, at least not in the way you mean. I’m just curious. I wonder about his story.”
“His story?”
“Yeah. Why is he always brooding? Maybe he has a sad, tragic past.”
“Maybe he’s just fed up with the state of the world today,” said Deena.
Now my imagination was fired up. “Maybe he’s an international spy!” I joked.
Deena rolled her eyes. “Maybe he’s a criminal—” She broke off as Bart reentered the kitchen. I stifled a giggle.
He set the second crate beside the first one and picked up the clipboard he’d placed on top. Scowling, he pulled a pen from his pocket and scrawled on the paper.
“How’s traffic today?” I asked.
“Terrible!” he responded.
“In Aerieville?” Deena looked surprised. She’d lived in Chicago before moving back home.
“Crazy drivers!” spat Bart. “They’re the worst on the county roads. Either too slow or too fast. One van was so erratic, it clipped me as it passed. Drove me right off the road.”
This was probably the biggest speech I’d ever heard Bart make. I was so stunned it took me a second to realize what he was saying. “Wait—you were in an accident? On your way here? Are you okay?”
He looked over at me and nodded. “I spun out but managed to keep from going in the ditch. Truck is dented but still drives. I only wish I’d got the van’s plate number.”
“That’s terrible!” said Deena.
“Aren’t you shaken?” I asked. “I’d be shaken.”
Bart shrugged. “I was madder than anything. I tried to chase him down, but never caught up with ’em. They must’ve pulled off somewhere.”
“Would you like to sit down, have a glass of water?”
Bart hesitated. “I’m waiting on my boss to call me back, so … okay. Do you have any iced tea?”
“I’ll make some! You can have a seat in our new café. Follow me.”
I led Bart up the hall to the café room and pulled out a ladder-back chair for him near the front window. “Would you like to try one of our herbal specials? We have chamomile-honey, peppermint-chocolate, and rose hips and lemon. Oh! A lavender-chamomile blend would be nice for soothing your nerves.”
He narrowed his eyebrows, clearly not impressed.
“We have plain black, too,” I said.
“I’ll take plain black. Iced.”
“Yes, sir.” I started to salute him, then felt silly and dropped my hand. “Coming right up.”
Deena was opening the crates when I reentered the kitchen. She’d already turned on the kettle for me.
“Thanks!” I said, as I checked to make sure we had plenty of ice. “I’m so nervous, for some reason. This is like having our first customer. Or a practice customer, anyway. Do we have any pansy cookies left?”
“A few.” She pointed to a container on the counter. “I plan to make more at home tomorrow.”
I prepared the tea, using the quick-chill method, with less water and lots of ice. Then I sweetened it up and placed it on a serving tray with a small plate of shortbread cookies with pansy blossoms pressed on top.
Bart was scowling at his phone again. He barely looked up when I set the plate and glass in front of him. At least he mumbled “Thanks.”
Oh, well. I try not to let the bad moods of others affect me too much. If I’d learned anything from all my self-help books, it was the importance of watching where you place your attention. If you don’t want to feel bad, then don’t dwell on things that make you feel bad—unless, of course, it motivates you to make a change.
I wandered to the kitchenette on the far end of the café room and gave it a once-over. Seeing that we hadn’t filled the napkin dispensers yet, I proceeded to do that. A few minutes later, Deena came in to let me know she’d finished unpacking the crates and was ready to head out.
“Thank you so much for all your help,” I said. “I couldn’t do any of this without you.”
“Well, you are paying me, so it’s kind of my job.” She smiled. “And I’m having so much fun. Who would’ve thought?”
Calvin popped his head into the café, glanced at Bart, and gave me a questioning look. I beckoned him over with one finger. He joined me at the café bar, as Deena said goodbye. “I’ll call you later,” she said.
“Say ‘hi’ to your folks for me!” I answered.
Calvin leaned an elbow on the counter and spoke in a low voice. “I was wondering why the delivery truck is still here. What’s going on?”
“He’s waiting to hear from his boss,” I whispered. “He—”
“Hey, Sierra,” called Deena, cutting me off. She stood in the arched entryway to the café but was looking out the front window. “I think we’re about to get a bunch of customers. Maybe I should stick around.”
“Really?” I scooched around the bar and ran over to the window. Sure enough, a large white passenger van had parked in front of the shop, and at least half a dozen people had emerged. “Awesome!”
Calvin walked over to see for himself. “Are you sure they’re coming here?” he asked.
“Of course they are!” I said brightly. “Why else would they park right in front?” I grabbed his arm and looked over at Deena. “Guys, you know what this means, don’t you? It means my window vision board is working!”
Deena laughed. “Don’t get too excited yet. They might not even buy anything.”
I peered out the window again, wondering why it was taking them so long to come inside. They seemed to be milling about in the street and on the sidewalk. Some were stretching their arms and bouncing on their heels. One guy, in a wrinkled T-shirt and cut-off jean shorts, had lit a cigarette. I gathered they’d been on the road for a while.
“Looks like college students,” Deena commented. “Must be some kind of field trip.”
“I think you’re right,” I said. “Some of them are holding notebooks. That older guy must be the professor or chaperone.” The older man, a lanky fellow with thinning silver hair, wire glasses, and a white goatee, slung a canteen over his shoulder and checked his watch.
“So, do you want me to stay?” Deena asked again.
“Nah. Cal and I can handle this. If they ever come in.”
“Good luck,” Deena said lightly, before heading toward the back.
I noticed Calvin had fallen silent. He continued to gaze out the window, only now he had a look of consternation. Before I could ask what was wrong, another car pulled up behind the school van. It was Wanda, back for Granny—who hadn’t returned yet herself.
“What is he doing here?” Calvin muttered.
“He?”
Calvin nodded toward the older man. “I know him. It’s Professor Lowry, from UT.”
At that, Bart suddenly looked up from his phone. “Did you say UT? A UT van?” He scraped back his chair and stood up to look out the window. “That’s him! That’s the van that ran me off the road.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
Calvin straightened abruptly. “You know what? I don’t want to talk to him. I’ll be upstairs for a while.”
Startled, I followed Calvin out of the café room and watched as he headed to the door at the end of the hall. It opened to stairs leading up to his apartment. Gus scurried out of the office where he’d been napping and slipped around Calvin’s heels. The door shut behind them, leaving me to scratch my head in confusion.
Then I heard the jingle of the front door and whirled around. Bart was stalking outside. I ran to the doorway, as he stomped down the sidewalk with his fists clenched. He headed straight for the professor—who appeared to be talking to Wanda. Or was she yelling at him?
Why is Wanda so upset with Professor Lowry? I couldn’t make out her words, but her shrill tone was unmistakable. She was really letting him have it.
He didn’t seem to be fazed. If anything, he seemed slightly bewildered, and then mildly irritated. Mostly, he seemed to be distracted. He said something, then gave her a dismissive wave, as if swatting a fly. Uh-oh. Wanda wasn’t going to like that. Sure enough, as soon as he turned away, she raised her handbag and swung back her arm.
A roar from Bart stopped her cold. It stopped Lowry too.
“You!” yelled Bart, so loudly I could hear him from across the front lawn. “You almost killed me! And these kids were your passengers? You might have killed them too!”
At first, Lowry seemed annoyed again. Maybe even bored? He pinched his forehead before glancing down the empty street. Then, in an instant, he seemed to come to some sort of decision. It was fascinating to watch. He changed his stance, hung his head, and pressed his hands together. Just like that, he’d gone from aloof to apologetic.
Bart continued to glare at him. Apparently, he had no interest in dropping the angry-bear posture. Now Wanda joined in, shaking her fist once again.
One of the students, the guy with the cigarette, called to the professor. He bowed to Bart and Wanda and backed away. After a quick word to the group, he strode up the brick walkway to Flower House.
Quickly, I tucked my hair behind my ears and stood a little taller. “Afternoon!” I chirped.
He offered a tight smile in return. “Hello. I wonder if I might use your restroom?”
My restroom? It was on the tip of my tongue to say, “Of course! Come on in!” Darn my good nature. I really couldn’t help myself. But not this time. I needed to start thinking like a businesswoman. “Uh, the restroom is reserved for customers and employees.”
“Hmm? Oh, sorry. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Steve Lowry, Professor of Botany at the University of Tennessee, Knoxville. I’m here with the summer field program.”
“That’s nice.” It didn’t really explain anything, but it was nice.
He gestured toward the students still milling about behind him. “Well, half the program, anyway. The other van seems to have fallen behind. We’re meeting them here.”
“Here? At Flower House?”
He sighed impatiently. “Is Felix here? He’s expecting us.”
Felix. Of course. He’d done it to me again.
“I left him a voice message,” he continued. “We stop by every July, on our way to the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.” At my confused expression, he rolled his eyes. “Yes, it’s out of the way, but we’re here to see the orchid collection. Felix knows.”
“I’m sorry. Felix retired recently, and he didn’t tell me … never mind. I’m Sierra, the new owner. And I’m happy to have you view our orchids—and anything else you’d like. We grow our own hothouse roses, too.”
“Wonderful,” he said shortly. “Now, might I use your restroom?”
“Of course! Your students are welcome to come in too, and look around. Maybe they’d like to buy a souvenir or two?”
He turned and beckoned to the nearest student, a petite girl with long curly blonde hair. On his signal, she rounded up the others. Without another word, he brushed past me and headed toward the hall bathroom.
I stood back as the students filed in. “Hi there! Welcome to Flower House!”
There were seven of them in all, four guys and three girls. Chatting among themselves, they barely acknowledged me as they fanned out, filling all four corners of the shop.
I tried to direct their attention. “We have a gifts table over here. You’ll find postcards, greeting cards, mugs. Lots of little things…” I trailed off. It was no use. I could barely keep track of them all, as they moved around, smelling flowers, flipping through books, picking things up and putting them down in the wrong places.
Two girls in particular were starting to worry me. They’d come in with large backpacks swung carelessly over one shoulder, and they didn’t seem to be aware of how much space they took up. Another guy, evidently the class clown, kept cracking jokes. His voice grew louder and louder—which seemed to give the others permission to turn up their own volume.
That is, except for the blonde, curly-haired girl. She had eyes only for the guy in the denim cutoffs, who’d been smoking. He had thick, tousled dark hair and a lazy, too-cool-for-school attitude that reminded me of a 1950s biker—or a bad-boy of any era, really. A rebel without a cause. She stared at him with an intensity I couldn’t help noticing. He, on the other hand, was oblivious to her. He sauntered up to another boy, a preppy-looking Black kid with short hair and a cute, dimpled face. The rebel lifted his chin in greeting to the preppy. In return, Mr. Preppy glanced over at Blondie, before turning his back to both of them.
Suddenly, the class clown called out from the café room. “Whoa! There’s a restaurant in here!”
“No way!” said his buddy. “There’s food? Where? I’m starving.”
“You’re always starving,” answered one of the backpack girls.
I hurried over to the archway. “Sorry, everybody! The café isn’t open.”
“Then why does he have a drink?” said the hungry guy, with a note of accusation. He was pointing at Bart, who was once again staring morosely at his phone.
He must have slipped in behind the others, when I wasn’t looking. I wonder where Wanda got off to? Without looking away from his phone, Bart slurped his iced tea, then ate a cookie in one bite.
“Can’t we at least order drinks?” a girl whined from behind me.
“Uh, we’re not really set up,” I began. The sound of shattering glass pulled my attention from the café. I ran into the front room and found one of the backpack girls staring down at a broken ceramic vase on the tile floor.
“Oops,” she said, with a giggle. “That just totally, like, fell off the table. I swear I didn’t touch it.”
“Careful!” I said, rushing forward to pick up the largest piece. As I did, I managed to slice my finger. I gasped from the sudden sting. Dang it! A tiny drop of crimson blood appeared on the side of my middle finger.
Just then, an excited barking filled the room.
Oh, jeez. “Everybody, stay away from the glass! I need to get a broom.” And a bandage. And some backup.
Gus ran up to me and jumped on my legs.
“Aw, cute puppy!” said one of the girls.
Another voice yelled at me from the café. “Hey, can we get some service in here? I want to order an iced mocha latte.”
Ignoring them all, I hurried down the hallway toward the kitchen. Halfway there, I bumped into Calvin. He was carrying a dog leash.
“Hey, sorry,” he said. “I was gonna take Gus out, and he got away from me.”
I held my injured hand in the air. “Hang on a minute,” I said, dashing into the kitchen. I ripped a paper towel from the roll on the counter and quickly wadded it around my cut finger. Then I grabbed a broom and dustpan.
Back in the hall, I found that Calvin had leashed Gus and was now standing by the open door of the room that housed our orchid collection. Looking past him, I saw two students standing close together, engaged in a lively whispered conversation. It was Blondie and the cute preppy boy. Only, on second glance, it appeared the boy wasn’t quite as engaged as the girl. She grabbed onto his polo shirt, and he only shook his head impassively. She let go, and he turned toward the orchids, pulling a small notebook and pencil from his pocket. She wrinkled her nose at him before turning to leave.
A clatter rang from the front of the shop, followed by a bellowed expletive and laughter.
“Ugh,” I growled. “This is madness.”
“What can I do?” asked Calvin.
“Just take Gus out of here. I’ll deal with these hooligans.”
I hurried to the front and almost tripped when a backpack girl stepped in front of me without looking.
“Sorry!” she said, twirling a single-stem pink rose.
“It’s okay.” I waved my paper-towel-wrapped hand toward the checkout counter. “Wait for me by the cash register, and I’ll ring you up for the flower in just a minute.”
“Is there a vending machine?” came another voice from the café.
For a split second, I stood rooted to the floor. I couldn’t decide which direction to go. I needed to clean up the broken glass, check out the customers who were waiting for me, and eject everyone from the café.
From the corner of my eye, I saw the bathroom door opening. Finally! Professor Lowry needed to take control of his wild bunch.
Except, to my dismay, it wasn’t the professor who emerged from the bathroom. It was the too-cool rebel guy … followed by Blondie. She moves fast, I thought.
I had no time to dwell on it. Another racket drew my attention to the café. When I got there, I saw that Bart was now gone—and the two rowdy guys were leaning over the bakery counter, as if they might find something to eat. Besides canisters of salt, sugar, and candied flowers, we stored tins of dried petals and seeds, as well as cinnamon, cloves, and other spices back here. There was nothing I could sell them.
“Hey!” I rapped the broom handle on the floor for attention. “I told you the café was closed!”
Looking slightly sheepish, they backed away from the counter.
“Sorry,” muttered one.
“We’re just really hungry,” said the other.
“Listen, there’s a bakery right next door. They have coffee and tea and all kinds of treats. Why don’t you go over there?”
Looking at each other, they nodded as one.
“Yeah, sweet.”
“Let’s do it.”
The loud clown led the way, calling out to the room as he headed to the front door. “Food’s next door! Who’s with me?”
Several of the students followed him, including the girl with the pink rose. I let her go. I didn’t have the energy to make a fuss. Instead, I righted a tipped-over tin bucket and swept up the broken glass, grateful for the momentary peace and quiet.
That finished, I finally found a Band-Aid behind the checkout counter and bandaged my finger. Then, I began straightening the shelves and putting things back in their proper places. Just as my breath had returned to a normal rate, I heard the click of Gus’s nails as he skittered up the hallway.
“Hey, buddy,” I said. “Where’s Calvin?”
When there were customers in the store, we usually liked to keep Gus in the office or up in Calvin’s apartment. At this point, I wasn’t sure who, if anyone, was left in the shop. I didn’t think all the students had left for the bakery, and I hadn’t seen Professor Lowry since he first came in. I assumed they were either in the orchid room, or else had gone outside to view the greenhouse. Maybe Calvin had decided to talk to the professor after all.
Now that I could once again hear myself think, I felt bad about how I’d handled the unruly students. Or, rather, failed to handle them. I should have roped off the café. I should have required the students to check their bags or else leave them in their van. I should’ve been more assertive.
Granted, their behavior, on the whole, was appalling.
The front door jingled open and Granny bustled inside. “I’m finally back!” she announced. “Land sakes, can your mama talk. I didn’t think I was ever going to get her to stop gabbing and bring me back. Where’s Wanda?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe in back looking at the garden.”
We headed down the hall toward the kitchen and the back door. We met Calvin coming down from his apartment.
“Hiding again?” I teased.
“Gus and I just got back from our walk. I ran upstairs to get his treat ball.” He held up the toy as evidence. “Where is the little guy? In the office?”
“He was just here,” I said looking around.
Calvin gave the toy a shake. “Gus!” he called.
The corgi barked in reply from somewhere within Flower House. “At least he didn’t sneak outside,” I said with relief.
He barked again, in short high-pitched yelps. Something about it sounded different.
“Where is he?” I asked.
“Did he get himself shut in the bathroom?” said Granny. She went to check. “Not here!” she hollered. “But the window is open again. I’ll close it.”
Meanwhile, Calvin and I followed the sound of Gus’s barking to the small storeroom off the kitchen. The door was ajar and, sure enough, Gus was inside.
“Augustus! What are you doing in there?” I said.
Instead of running up to us as he usually did, Gus remained sitting on the floor next to some boxes and crates. He looked up at us, then looked at a spot behind the boxes and whimpered.
“What’s the matter, buddy?” said Calvin.
“Why is he acting so strange?” I said quietly. Something was definitely off.
Calvin and I stepped inside together and approached the small dog. Once we reached him, we could see the area that had his attention behind the boxes.
“Oh, my God!” I grabbed onto Calvin, as I felt my knees begin to buckle.
“Jeez!” Calvin quickly placed a supportive hand under my arm, as he cursed under his breath. But he wasn’t cursing because of me. It was the sight of the body on the floor.
It was the professor, crumpled in a heap. A puddle of blood oozed from a gash on the back of his head. And his glassy eyes stared straight ahead, seeing nothing.