I stepped outside the front door of Flower House and shielded my eyes against the late afternoon sun. Where had that new guy gone? For a second, I felt a pang of worry for Gus. How distracted must I be to let a total stranger take off with the little corgi? Jeesh!
Then I spotted them down the sidewalk, and I had to laugh. If anyone was being dragged away, it was Calvin by Gus. I could hear Calvin chuckling from a block away. “Wait up, buddy!” he said, trotting to keep up. Gus was pulling him toward Melody Gardens, a small, grassy park, catty-corner across the street.
Another voice drew my attention right next door. A woman and two young children had just emerged from Bill and Flo’s bakery, Bread n’ Butter. The kids, clutching cookies as big as their heads, left a trail of crumbs in their wake. This gave me an idea. Who better to ask about the source of the powdered sugar on the floor than our resident bakers? I should go talk to Bill and Flo.
For some reason, my feet wouldn’t follow through on this plan. I stood rooted in place, biting my lip. The truth was, I was feeling kind of shy about facing the Morrisons after my disastrous turn at leading the workshop. I also imagined they’d be none too happy to learn about Felix’s retirement. A vacant shop on the block wouldn’t be good for their business. And the prospect of having me in charge surely wouldn’t inspire much confidence. I knew it didn’t in me.
What I needed was a peace offering. Not that we were at odds, but it couldn’t hurt to soften their feelings about me. If I’d learned anything from my days working at a florist, it was the power of flowers to lift spirits and mend fences. I went back inside and made a beeline for the workroom.
“Let’s see,” I muttered to myself. “Which flowers to use?” Floriography might not be as well-known as it used to be, but most folks still knew a little something about the language of flowers. Everyone knew red roses symbolized romantic love. And most people associated daisies with cheerfulness or innocent children. Beyond that, I’d found that different flowers could evoke different moods, even if you didn’t know their traditional Victorian meanings. Some were weightier and more formal, while others were lighter and more whimsical. Some were lush and sensuous, and some were simple. It all came down to what message you wanted to impart.
Something white, I thought. The color of peace and good will. I opened the case containing a rainbow of tulips and reached for the white ones. According to tradition, white tulips represented forgiveness. Perfect.
And yellow, I added, reaching for another bucket. The color of friendship.
It didn’t take long for me to put together a pretty bouquet of white and yellow tulips, interspersed with healthy green leaves. I arranged the flowers in a large clear, glass jar. The result was elegant and cheerful, without being too fancy. Now I was ready to face the neighbors.
Bread n’ Butter was empty of customers when I pushed through the front door, flowers in hand. The bakery had a downhome appeal, with gingham curtains, two little wooden tables, and cutesy kitchen art hanging on the brick walls. It smelled like hazelnut coffee and oven-fresh bread. Inhaling deeply, I took a second to appreciate the warm, welcoming aroma.
Though, now that I looked around, I noticed the place was a little less tidy than usual. Besides a smattering of crumbs on the floor, the tables were unbussed and a puddle of spilled coffee dripped from the edge of the countertop. I pulled some paper napkins from a metal dispenser and was about to dab at the spill, when Flo shouldered through the kitchen door, a cell phone in one hand and a cleaning rag in the other. From the looks of her drawn face, she was perturbed about something, and maybe slightly worried.
I offered up a smile and showed her the flowers. “Hello, Flo. These are for you and Bill.”
“Oh?” Her eyes flickered in surprise. “Why, whatever for?”
“Just because.”
Her forehead was still wrinkled in confusion, so I quickly fessed up. “It’s my way of saying sorry. You know, about yesterday…” I trailed off, uncertain. Was this a mistake? Callous, even? A man has died, and I think I can smooth it over with tulips?
“Aren’t you sweet,” said Flo, and I breathed a sigh of relief. She pocketed her cell phone, took the flowers, and placed them next to the cash register. Then she used her rag to clean off the countertop.
“How’s Felix holding up?” she asked. “He was one of the few people who actually got along with Abe Ranker.”
Ugh. More questions about Felix. I didn’t know what to say. As far as I knew, my boss (former boss?) still didn’t know what had happened.
Flo must have taken my silence as disapproval at her lack of respect for the dead. “Such a terrible thing to happen to anyone,” she said quickly. “Bill and I plan to order flowers for the funeral as soon as there’s a date set. Will Felix open back up soon? At least for online orders?”
“Um. That’s to be determined. I’m not really sure.”
“Well, it’s understandable to be closed today, but flowers don’t last forever. Of course, Felix knows that. He’ll be mindful of his inventory.”
“Right.” I smiled weakly and backed toward the exit.
“Pastries for the road?” she asked.
“Another time.” I waved and left the bakery before she could ask any more questions about Felix. I was halfway back to Flower House when I remembered my original purpose for wanting to talk to Flo—to ask her about the powdered sugar. Boy, am I scatter-brained, or what?
When I returned to Bread n’ Butter, the tabletops were clean, but Flo had disappeared again. I peeked inside the bakery case while I waited. Maybe I’d order a pastry after all.
After a few minutes, I decided to call out. “Hello? Flo? I’m back!”
Another minute passed, and I was starting to get impatient. Where had she gotten to? I walked to the side of the counter and pushed open the door to the kitchen. I opened my mouth to holler for her again, but the words got caught in my throat. I saw something that made me freeze in my tracks: a skull and crossbones. It was printed on a cardboard box sitting on a cluttered metal cabinet along the wall. The box was labeled Rodenticide.
Rat poison? Didn’t Chief Walden say the poison that killed Abe was found in some pesticides?
A scraping noise made me jump. It sounded like a door opening—probably that of an office or closet around the corner. Then I heard voices. It was Bill and Flo, and they seemed to be arguing. With one hand still on the kitchen door, I craned my ears to listen.
“I don’t see why we should wait,” said Flo. “We’ve been waiting for years. Now that he’s gone, we’re free to move ahead.”
“Come on, Flo,” said Bill. “It wouldn’t look right. People will talk. We need to bide our time.”
“I’m tired of waiting!”
“I am, too! But we need to be smart about this.”
The shuffling of footsteps broke my momentary paralysis. I slipped out of the kitchen, gently closing the door behind me. Then I fled the shop once more. This time I ran across the lawn and up the sidewalk, not stopping until I was safely back inside Flower House. I leaned back on the closed door and shut my eyes. Bide their time? What in the heck was that all about?
“Peony for your thoughts.”
I about jumped out of my skin as my eyes flew open. Calvin and Gus were walking in from the back room, Calvin with a goofy grin. “Peony. Get it? Since this is a flower shop?”
Ugh. “Yeah, but jeesh! Don’t sneak up on me like that.” My nerves were frayed enough already.
Gus barked once and launched himself toward me, dragging his leash on the floor.
“Sorry about that,” said Calvin. “I thought I had a hold of him.”
I sank to the floor and let the puppy jump in my lap and lick my hands. “Okay. It’s alright,” I cooed, as I scratched his furry head.
Calvin stuffed his hands in the pockets of his slacks and smiled crookedly. “He’s got more energy than any dog I’ve ever known.”
“Known many dogs?” I asked.
He laughed, though it came out as a snort. “Yeah, actually. I’ve known a canine or two in my time.” He removed his hands from his pockets and tried to rest his elbow on the checkout counter—but somehow missed. Laughing awkwardly, he crossed his arms in front of his chest. I raised my eyebrows, half-amused and half-fascinated.
My cell phone trilled in my purse. I pushed Gus off of me and looked to see who was calling. It was my mom. Sighing, I stood up. Instead of answering, I’d just go see her in person.
Calvin cleared his throat. “So, have you, uh, heard from Felix? Can I start moving my stuff in?”
I walked over to the cash register to make sure it was locked up. “I hate to break it to you, dude, but Felix has gone on an extended trip. He won’t be back anytime soon.”
“Where did he go?”
I glanced over at him. “What does it matter where he went? The point is, the future of Flower House is up in the air right now. There are a lot of things I have to figure out.”
“You? So, you’re in charge?”
“Why not me? You think I’m too young? Do I look incapable?” I was feeling extra defensive for some reason.
“No, no,” he said hurriedly. “I just meant, if you’re in charge, then you could give me the keys to the apartment.”
My eyes fell to the piece of paper I’d set on the counter. It was the mysterious note.
“Hey, when you were out with Gus, did you happen to see anyone standing outside the front door to the shop? Maybe crouching down?”
“Uh, no. I don’t think so. Why?”
I handed him the paper. “Someone slipped this under the door.”
He lifted his glasses up to read the note. Guess he’s nearsighted, I thought irrelevantly. I also couldn’t help noticing how much the chunky glasses altered his appearance.
Frowning, he returned the note to me. “I don’t get it.”
“Didn’t you hear about what happened here yesterday?”
He shook his head. “I just got to town this afternoon.”
As much as it pained me to repeat the story, I knew I had to do it. I gave him the abbreviated version. I thought surely it would scare him away. What was scarier than murder? Instead, he only seemed curious.
“Did the victim have a wife or any other family? It had to be someone close to him, right? Crimes like that are almost never random.”
I stared at him in wonder. No fear? Well, he didn’t witness it all, like I did.
“No wife or kids,” I said. “Not that I know of anyway.” My phone rang again. “Speaking of family, I really need to go and see mine.”
“You’re married?” asked Calvin. Was it my imagination, or did I detect a hint of disappointment in the question?
I suppressed a smile. “No. I’m talking about my parents.” I looked around. “Where’s Gus?”
We found him by the front door, chewing on the entry rug. He’d managed to unravel one whole edge, and in only a few minutes. I picked up his leash.
“I’ll take him with me. As for you…” I turned to look at Calvin. He gazed at me with pleading eyes, baby blue behind those thick hipster glasses, and clasped his hands together like a supplicant. Any second now, he was liable to drop to his knees and kiss my feet. And for all the wrong reasons.
I shook myself. “Look, I suppose it’s probably not a bad idea to keep this place occupied for the time being—”
“I can help you keep an eye on things!” Calvin interjected, his eyes bright with eagerness. “I can even help you out with the business. I’m really good with plants. Dogs too.”
I smiled in spite of myself. “I just might take you up on that. But, listen, this is gonna have to be a trial situation. I really don’t know what’s going to happen to this building.”
“Understood. It’s a month-to-month lease anyway. Just so I have someplace to stay tonight.” He glanced at his watch, no doubt thinking about his rental van.
“Alright. Let’s see if I can find the apartment keys.” With both Gus and Calvin at my heels, I headed to the small office next to the workroom.
I sure do hope I’m doing the right thing.
It was prime time for the after-work crowd at Dumbbells, the small health club my parents owned. Hal and Mandy Ravenswood had always been fitness buffs. It was what had brought them together back in college, where Dad played football and Mom led the cheerleading squad. They’d bonded over team spirit, rock climbing, and working out. It was only natural that they’d turn their passion into a business. As a kid, I’d spent a good chunk of time tumbling on the gym mats here and, later, minding the front desk, while Dad trained the lifters and Mom taught Jazzercise. But I was never interested in taking over the business.
And if I’d been old enough to have a say, I definitely would have vetoed the name they chose. To this day, it still embarrasses me to tell people my parents run a business called “Dumbbells.”
Luckily, Rocky was the complete opposite. He was more than happy to spend all his waking hours sculpting his muscles and helping others do the same. That took at least a little bit of pressure off of me—and placed it on him to find a significant other with similar interests.
The front desk was unattended when I entered the lobby, but the glass door to the weight room was open. I peeked in and was met with the familiar sound of clanging barbells and grunting lifters. The thump of hip-hop music drifted in from the adjacent fitness studio. Gus tugged on his leash, no doubt attracted by the exciting odors of body sweat mingled with shower soap. I was trying to get my dad’s attention when the office door flew open and my mom rushed at me like a tiny, leotard-clad linebacker.
“Sierra! It’s about time! Where have you been?”
“Sorry, Mom. It’s been a busy day. I thought you were leading an aerobics class?”
“I asked Charlene to cover for me. I’ve been too worried to do anything.”
Gus jumped on my mom’s legs, his nubby tail wagging. I was beginning to realize he jumped on everyone. I was going to have to enroll him in doggie etiquette school.
“Sorry,” I repeated. “Mom, meet Gus—my new dog.”
“You got a dog?”
“Well, Felix got him, but he’s mine now.”
“Oh? Dogs are a lot of work, you know.”
“I know. But he’s real smart. He knows his name, and he comes when he’s called.” I struggled to hold onto the leash as Gus tried to steer us toward the weight room. “Sit, Gus. Sit!” He ignored me.
Mom laughed shortly, then turned to me with a serious expression. “Listen, hon. I assume you’re not going back to the flower shop, so you can work here. I’ve already started the paperwork to put you back on the payroll. Swimsuit season will be here soon, and we’re getting busier already. We’ll be adding on another Jazzercise class—”
“Wait a minute,” I said, trying to interrupt. She kept talking.
“You can cover the desk and phone, while I’m teaching or working in the office. I have some ideas for a new spring ad campaign, which you can help out with. Of course, if you want to take a class, Dad or Rocky can sit up here for an hour.”
I could feel my face tightening up like a celebrity on Botox. “Mom—”
She held up her hand. “Don’t worry about any interference with your music career. We can always cover for you if you get a gig or any guitar students.”
Ouch. I knew she didn’t mean to be hurtful, but I could’ve done without the reminder of my stalled music career. (Stalled, not failed.) It was flip comments like these that drove me out of the family business in the first place. As soon as I turned sixteen (way back when), I’d started looking for part-time work elsewhere. During breaks from high school, I tried my hand at every opportunity I could snatch, from mowing lawns to flipping burgers. Then Granny recommended me to Felix and Georgina at Flower House. They hired me to deliver flowers and do odd jobs around the shop, eventually teaching me how to arrange flowers myself. Flower House had been good to me over the years.
Mom was still prattling on about Dumbbells, telling me her plans to spruce up the gym for the spring campaign. I finally had to raise my voice.
“Mom! I don’t need a job. I need to look after the flower shop.”
“You don’t have to do that, hon. Why should you do that? Besides, won’t they be closed for a while?”
Before I could answer, my dad ambled in from the weight room, wearing his usual gray sweatpants and blue Dumbbells T-shirt, with a towel draped around his neck. He was followed closely by a younger, taller version of himself—my brother, Rocky.
Mom immediately sought reinforcements. “Hal, Rocky, tell Sierra she doesn’t need to go back to that flower shop. She should work here instead.”
“Listen to your mother,” said Dad, pulling me into a brief one-armed hug.
“She probably doesn’t want to abandon Felix,” said Rocky, taking the leash from me and leaning down to accept kisses from Gus.
I flashed him a grateful smile. “That’s true,” I said. Even though it kind of feels like Felix abandoned me.
“The place is a crime scene!” said Mom. “Nobody’s going to want to do business there now, at least not until the murder is solved. I heard some people wondering whether it could’ve been a poisonous plant that did ol’ Abe in.”
“What?” It was on the tip of my tongue to ask who had said such a thing, but I thought better of it. There was no stopping the gossip train in this town, and all that was really beside the point anyway. I sighed. “Actually, the future of Flower House is kind of in flux right now.”
“What do you mean?” asked Dad.
I maneuvered behind the reception counter, so I could plop down on the tall stool. Rocky crouched on the floor, giving Gus a belly rub, while Mom and Dad gave me their undivided attention. I told them everything, from Felix’s unusual trip and Abe’s collapse at the workshop to the message from Byron and the sudden appearance of the new guy, Calvin. Mom kept asking me questions, most of which I couldn’t answer.
“The thing is,” I concluded, “I don’t know what I want to do yet. But it might be kind of cool to own my own business. What do you think?”
For a fraction of a second, my question hung in the air, as my parents seemed to process the information. Then they pelted me with objections.
“That house is so old,” said Mom. “It’s got to be a money pit!”
“Is the business in the red?” asked Dad. “You get his assets, you get his debts too.”
“It’s too much responsibility!”
“It’ll eat up all your time.”
“It sounds like a bad idea.”
“The timing is not good.”
I could feel my face heating up and my muscles clench. Every negative point pushed me that much closer to accepting the offer just to be contrary. Instead, I took a deep breath and forced myself to smile. “Why don’t you tell me how you really feel?”
Mom reached across the counter to smooth my hair. “We’re concerned, honey.”
“We don’t know if it’s even safe for you to be there,” said Dad.
My mind immediately jumped to the note that had been slipped under the door at Flower House. I swallowed. “I’m sure the police will catch the murderer soon.”
Dad crossed his arms in front of his chest, reflexively tightening his biceps. “I wouldn’t be so sure. I’ve left a couple messages for Walt, and he hasn’t called me back yet. Hasn’t even sent a text.”
I tossed a look at Rocky, who had been quietly scratching Gus’s head and neck, like he was a dog whisperer or something. My brother had been on the receiving end of our parents’ smotherly love plenty of times. Why isn’t he defending me?
He finally spoke up. “Sierra’s not a dummy,” he said. (Gee, thanks, Rocky.) “Give her some credit. She didn’t say she was gonna take Felix’s offer. She’ll at least sleep on it. Right, sis?”
“Of course, I’ll sleep on it. I won’t make any snap decisions. I’ll think it through, list the pros and cons.”
“I’d say being the scene of a murder is a pretty big con!” said Mom.
A customer passing through the lobby halted at Mom’s words. He turned back, mouth agape. Dad stepped forward and clapped him heavily on the back. “Good workout, Joe. Have a good evening now.”
“Uh, yeah. Thanks, Hal.”
As soon as Joe left, I stood up and moved to take the leash from Rocky. Gus hopped eagerly to his feet. “I’m sure this will all blow over in no time,” I said. “Chief Walden is probably out questioning people, closing in on a suspect as we speak. That’s probably why he hasn’t called you back, Dad.”
Rocky looked thoughtful. “I wouldn’t want to be questioned by Chief Walden, innocent or not.”
“Why not?” asked Mom. “You’ve never committed any crimes.” She said it as a statement, but there was a note of questioning in her tone.
Rocky chuckled. “No, Mom. I haven’t. But still. Walt Walden is intimidating. Wasn’t that his football nickname in college—the Intimidator? You’ve told us stories about those days.”
I recalled how small the chief had made me feel and realized Rocky was right. I turned to my dad. “Does he have a partner? Someone to play ‘good cop’ to his ‘bad cop’?”
Dad narrowed his eyebrows. “Walt is a good cop.”
“You know what I mean,” I said.
“He doesn’t have a partner,” Dad said. “But I’m sure the whole Aerieville police force is working on this case. I’ll give him another call tonight.”
Mom took her place behind the counter and shuffled through some papers. “Come home for supper, Sierra? I have a roast in the crockpot.”
I looked out the window at the darkening sky and tried to imagine what Chief Walden was doing at that moment. What kind of questions would he be asking? What were your feelings about Abe Ranker? Did you see anything unusual at the workshop? Own any strychnine?
“Sierra?” Mom repeated.
“What? Oh, sorry. Uh, that sounds good, but there’s something I have to do first.”
At that moment, several women and a couple of men filed through the lobby, laughing and talking. The aerobics class must have just let out. Dad and Rocky returned to the weight room, while Mom tossed off cheerful goodbyes. I held Gus back, but my mind was still on the police investigation. I bet I could get folks to open up and talk freely a whole lot easier than stern ol’ Walt Walden.
Mom grabbed a spray bottle and a cleaning rag and moved toward the weight room. Looking over her shoulder at me, she said, “Come by the house as soon as you can. What do you have to do, anyway?”
With Gus in tow, I headed to the exit. “Nothing big. I just have to deliver some flowers.”