Bloom and Doom (26 page)

A while would pass before I’d be able to shake
the adrenaline rush that occurred whenever anyone opened the alley door. Especially early in the morning when alone in the back room. I froze and watched until I saw Larry’s shock of hair and his plaid shirt.

“Hey, Audrey.”

“Larry, I didn’t know we were expecting a shipment today.” Except for people coming into the shop to hear more about the murder, business had returned to normal, and we had plenty of stock to keep our customers in flowers.

“That’s not why I’m here.” He placed a long box on my workstation. “These are for you . . . and your cousin.” His fair complexion burst into a fierce blush.

“Don’t say you brought us flowers.”

“Open it.”

When I did, I beheld the most perfect pale blue roses I’d ever seen. “You did a wonderful job tinting these. You can barely tell—”

“They’re not tinted.”

I leaned closer and took a better look. Only the palest pink shone through the blue. “What hybrid is this? I don’t know if I’ve ever seen any so blue.” The blue rose has been the holy grail of rose developers for years. No one had mastered one.

A broad smile transformed him again into a Kewpie doll. “I just got the registry papers on it.”

“Yours? Oh, Larry! That is wonderful! What did you name it?”

“I call it the Mae rose, after the woman who convinced me to never give up. She had confidence in me long before I had any in myself.”

I’m afraid I might have gotten his shoulder a little damp with my tears as I gave him a hug. “After our Grandma Mae. That is so sweet.”

“That’s why I didn’t want anyone else in the greenhouses. I needed to keep it a secret until it was safely registered. Not that I don’t trust you. But this is a small town, and things get out. But could you do me a favor, Audrey? Could you choose a meaning for it?”

I carefully lifted one of the blooms from the box and examined its delicate texture. “According to florigraphy, blue roses can mean anything from
royalty
to
impossibility
to
mystery
.” I smiled. “But not impossible, is it? Maybe something mysterious, but in a positive sense.”

“It’s a beauty.”

“What about
mysterious beauty
, then?”

“Mysterious beauty.” He scratched his chin. “I think I like it.”

“You’re going to sell all of these that you can grow,” I said.

“Audrey, I’d like the Rose in Bloom to market the cut roses for me.”

“Of course we’d be delighted to carry them.”

“I mean, exclusive, like.”

“But people from all over the country are going to want these.”

“Which is why I need to concentrate on cultivating more. I’m not equipped for retail.”

It meant more shipping, but this would be a big boon to our business. Maybe we could keep our new interns. “Liv is going to be ecstatic.”

I arranged the blue roses simply, in a clear glass vase with accents of baby’s breath. I set them on the counter in the shop, where they were the center of attention all day—well, they shared attention with talk of the murder.

Jenny had moved back home with her mother, and Sarah had been transported to a psychiatric facility for further examination.

Amber Lee busied herself repeating the story of the “knife fight in the walk-in cooler,” and how I’d stopped a deranged killer with only the thorns from a rose. It all sounded so much more exciting when she told it. Her former students must have enjoyed story time. I think she would have taken people on paid tours if Liv hadn’t nixed the idea.

“Weren’t you going to leave early for some hot date?” I asked her.

“Oh, please,” she said. “Don’t remind me. I could blame you for that disaster.”

“What did I do?”

“Remember when you told me to learn more about Worthington?”

“Is that who you’ve been seeing? You and the Rawlings’ butler?”

“Yeah, until Bixby threw him in the clink. Good riddance.”

“Why?”

“That cottage and garden plot of his on the Rawling estate? It seems he was growing a healthy crop of marijuana. That’s the only reason he joined the garden club. He used all our soil information to increase his crop yield. Even got Larry to come to one of our meetings to show us how to set up an indoor hydroponics system.”

“I thought I saw them chatting at the funeral.”

“I bet Larry didn’t know what he was up to, either. I hate being used like that.” She shook her head. “And you know what? He’s not even British.”

Another customer entered, and Amber Lee plastered on a smile and went to greet her.

• • •

In an afternoon
lull, as Liv chugged her decaf and I leaned against the counter in a carbohydrate slump, the bell over the door startled me awake.

Nick Maxwell walked in, dressed in those sparkling baker’s whites.

“Come to get a bouquet?” It had been several days since his girlfriend had received fresh flowers.

“Yes.” He smiled that dazzling smile of his, and I let another refrain of the only-friends mantra cycle through my head.

“Actually, no. I brought you something.” He whipped out a cupcake from behind his back and set it on the counter. “I wanted to congratulate you on catching the real killer. I knew you could figure it out, and I’m glad you’re safe.”

“Thanks, I . . .” I looked at the cupcake with a perfectly formed red sugar tulip on the top. Did he know that the red tulip was a confession of love? Probably not.

Pull yourself together, Audrey. Just a friend, just a friend.

“I have a confession to make,” he said.

“A confession?”

“I haven’t been buying flowers for a girlfriend.”

“You’ve been using them as models for sugar flowers, haven’t you?”

“No . . . well, that’s what I ended up doing with them. But that’s not why . . . I mean, I already had all my molds set. I . . . well . . . I wanted to get to know you a little better.”

“Me?”

He smiled again, and everything but his face blended into some kaleidoscopic periphery. “Yes, and I wondered if maybe, sometime this weekend when we’re both not working, if maybe we could, I don’t know, have dinner?”

“I’d like that.”

“How about the Ashbury?”

“I . . .” I let out an unconscious breath. How could I tell him that place to me was cursed? The scene of my breakup—and everybody else’s wedding.

“Or I could cook.” His eyes twinkled. “I’ve been known to make things other than cake, you know.”

“That sounds lovely. I . . .” I went to the self-service cooler and pulled out a perfect garden daisy and handed it to him.
I share your sentiments.

“Thanks.”

The bell rang as another customer entered, but my eyes followed Nick as he saluted me with the daisy and backed out of the store.

I took a sniff of the cupcake. Instead of smelling like flowers, it smelled of vanilla and almond and sugar.

I guess love doesn’t always smell like roses.

Turn the page for a preview of Beverly Allen’s next Bridal Bouquet Shop Mystery . . .

For Whom the Bluebell Tolls

Coming soon from Berkley Prime Crime!

“Audrey, I . . .”

I stood on my front stoop, hand-in-hand with Nick Maxwell after one of our sporadic dinner dates. The moon cooperated, already aglow in the dusky sky, and a gentle breeze stirred the leaves in the trees—very welcome after the heat of the day. I closed my eyes, waiting for our good-night kiss.

Chester interrupted our romantic moment, scratching on the glass window and yowling for me to get inside and serve his every whim. (Did I mention Chester is my cat?) My neighbor Tom added percussion to the feline chorus, using the last remaining moments of daylight to tack up a Fourth of July banner a few feet away. Ah, the joys of apartment living. Then my phone started ringing in my living room.

“I should let you get that. Good night, Audrey.” Nick planted a chaste kiss on my forehead and gave my hand a squeeze before sending Tom a wave and walking back to his truck.

I leaned against the doorframe for a moment and watched him go. I knew Nick was encouraged by the growth of the bakery, which now supplied fresh baked goods and breads to local restaurants. But his early hours had really taken a toll on our date time.

Meanwhile my phone had stopped ringing. I opened my door as the answering machine picked up. A click proved that the caller declined to leave a message.

I bumped my behemoth of a window air conditioner up to the max, then made my way to the kitchen with Chester nipping at my ankles and weaving around my legs. I spooned out half of a can of something labeled “Fresh Seafood,” but which smelled more like the Dumpster behind a sushi restaurant. He didn’t seem to mind. I managed to refill his water dish before the phone rang again.

I carried the receiver so I could stand in front of the roaring air conditioner, then lifted my ponytail so the chilled air could hit the back of my neck. “Hello?”

“Audrey, where have you been? I’ve been calling all night.”

Letting my hair fall, I jerked into my full and upright position. “Hey, Brad.” Where I’d been was none of his business. Not anymore. Brad the Cad had blown his chance with me. I really needed to get caller ID.

“Listen, Audrey, I’m coming back to Ramble.”

Well, let’s call the town band and organize a parade, why don’t we? But instead of saying that, I sank onto the sofa. “Coming back?”

“Just for a visit. Well, work, really.”

“How nice for you.”

“Aw, come on, Audrey. I know you’re upset with me, but I hoped we could talk. Clear the air. There might be a job in it for you. A huge wedding.”

“Are you getting married?” A logical conclusion considering I made my living as a florist and the wedding coordinator at the Rose in Bloom, the shop that my cousin Liv and I owned.

A long pause was followed by a slow inhalation and exhalation. “No, Audrey. I’m not getting married. You were right. New York isn’t exactly what I thought it would be. I really messed up when I left you behind.”

I swallowed hard. For a long time I’d dreamed of hearing those words. And I’d rehearsed all kinds of reactions ranging from running into his arms—hard to do over the phone—and stomping on his foot with my highest and spikiest pair of heels.

“Yeah?” Okay, so that wasn’t one of the reactions I’d practiced.

“Look, I’m coming back with the whole film crew.”

“I thought the show you were working on was canceled.”

“It was. Who knew
The Lumberjack Logs
would turn out to be such a yawn? But a friend hooked me up with
Fix My Wedding
. I’m the production assistant.”

“And they’re coming to Ramble?” My ears perked up.
Fix My Wedding
had become one of my favorite guilty pleasures. Gigi Welch’s snarky treatment of brides brought them to tears as she mocked their original—and usually tacky—plans. Then her cohort, Gary Davoll, would sweep in like a fairy godfather and whisk the bride away, spoiling her like a princess. I won’t say the elaborate weddings they staged were much less tacky than the bride’s original plans, but the show had chemistry. And I could justify the hours I spent watching it by labeling the time as work, research for anyone in the bridal industry.

“Yep. And I might have had something to do with that.” Pride rang in his voice. “The original venue fell through. The bride in question is nuts—”

“Aren’t they usually?”

“Same old Audrey. Quick-witted and never letting me finish a sentence.” The tone in his voice was teasing and cheerful. It belonged to the old charming Brad I dated, not the monster I’d recast him as since the break-up. I shifted my emotions to defensive mode. I would not fall for him again. I would not . . .

“Anyway,” he continued, “the bride is nutty about bells, and I told her about the hand-rung bell in the old First Baptist. I showed Gary and Gigi pictures of some of the other local assets, so they’re going to hold the wedding at the church and the reception at the Ashbury.”

Oh, lovely. The Ashbury. The restaurant where Brad dumped me. This was getting better by the minute. “And you said there might be a job for me?”

“Yes, I showed Gigi and Gary the article about you in the paper, and they thought the whole language of flowers thing was cute. Said a local florist with that kind of reputation might make the episode more interesting. Well,
quaint
, they said, but you know Gigi.”

“And the bride’s crazy about bells?” My brain started turning. I’d seen bell-shaped vases that might work. Maybe campanula, also known as bellflowers, or any of the other flower varieties that resembled bells. Or was that too literal?

The meanings were suitable. Bellflowers signified
constancy
, a great meaning for a marriage, and the small white ones meant
gratitude
. Of course, the bluebell also could signify
sorrowful regret
, but maybe I could steer her away from that color. Not all of the bellflowers are commonly used by many florists, but I was sure I could get my hands on them if needed. And if I couldn’t, Liv was a whiz at acquisition.

“Yes, some fetish with bells,” he continued. “We’re busing in a bell choir to perform at the ceremony. Guests are ringing little silver bells instead of throwing rice. I think Gary is even arranging to have bells woven into her dress. Crazy, huh? But that’s why people watch the show. I hope you’re not overbooked and can squeeze in the wedding. Mom said the shop has been real busy.”

“When is the wedding?”

“Um, we’re coming next week. Like I said, the other venue canceled at the last minute. Can you do it? I know it’s the middle of summer. It has to be a busy time for weddings.”

Proving once again that Brad never paid attention. July might be a prime time for a wedding in many parts of the country. But in Ramble, Virginia, where most weddings were held at the old First Baptist, which lacked air conditioning, or outside in the gardens of the Ashbury, local brides tended to opt for late spring or early fall when the temperatures were more manageable.

“I should be free. I’ll have to see if Liv can source the flowers for a quick delivery. It will cost a bit more.”

“No problem,” he said. “The show has deep pockets. We’ll make sure the cost of anything you need is written into the contract. Should be some nice publicity for your shop, too.”

“Of course, I’ll have to talk it over with Liv.”

“Last time I called Mom, she said that Liv and Eric are going to have a baby. They must be tickled pink.”

“Or blue,” I said. “They want to be surprised.”

“That’s great. Give them my best. Or I can do it when I get into town. Oh, Audrey, I’ve missed you. I’m looking forward to seeing you.”

My stomach twisted. He sounded like the same old Brad that I had dated for a year. But did I really want to see him again? And where would that leave my budding relationship (pardon the floral pun) with Nick Maxwell?

“Yes, Brad, I’m looking forward to seeing you again, too.”