Tulips and Trouble Read online

  Tulips and Trouble

  Port Danby Cozy Mystery #5

  London Lovett

  Wild Fox Press

  Tulips and Trouble

  Copyright © 2018 by London Lovett

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Dahlias and Death

  Luscious Lemon Cupcakes

  Recipe Card

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  I frantically pulled out my tissue to catch the sneeze, my fifth of the morning.

  "Gesundheit," Ryder chirped from behind the colorful forest of tulips on the counter.

  "Spring is in the air. And in my nose, apparently." With a sniffer as sensitive as mine, it made scientific sense that I'd be prone to allergies. Yet, every spring I got blindsided by the perpetual blizzard of pollen. Especially silly of me, considering I surrounded myself year round with flowers.

  I picked up my pruning shears and began trimming the ends of the tulips. "I wonder why it's called hay fever, when it clearly has nothing to do with hay or fever."

  "I can answer that." Ryder pushed his long bangs back from his forehead. My marvelous, multi-talented shop assistant was a veritable encyclopedia of trivia. "Back in the day—" He paused. "I wonder why we say back in the day when there is no specific day to go with it? I'll have to look up the origin of that phrase. Anyway, back some time ago, when people worked the land, runny noses and red eyes were prevalent whenever hay was being harvested."

  "That explains the hay part, but what about the fever?"

  Ryder tucked three yellow tulips into a slim glass vase. "Good question. Maybe it's because runny noses and red eyes also go with having the flu."

  "That sounds about right." I stepped back to look at the tulip arrangements. The bright, waxy blooms ranged in color from deep, rich burgundy to magenta purple and creamy white. "Makes me want to go out and buy a pair of wooden shoes. I don't know what it is about tulips but I've never considered them as part of the flower world. They are so sturdy and solid. They're like nothing else in nature. I'm glad we opted for the Darwin tulip. I think those frilly parrot tulips would have been too much for flower arrangements. They're better in a garden landscape. They just try too hard with their flouncy petals."

  Ryder laughed. "Did you just mock the parrot tulip for being an overachiever?"

  "I suppose I did. I'm also glad we decided to go with the rainbow of colors instead of just the usual spring favorites. This way people can pick the colors that go with their spring table settings."

  Ryder snapped his fingers and pointed at me. "Brilliant."

  "Thanks?" I said with a question, not exactly sure how I'd earned the compliment.

  "Rainbows. Roy G. Biv," he continued.

  I squinted at him. "You've lost me. Who is Roy G. Biv, and why am I brilliant? Other than the obvious reasons, of course."

  "Roy G. Biv is not a person. It's a mnemonic device." He tapped his chin as he slipped into a short mind debate, something he did a lot. "Or is it an acronym? Not sure. No, I think it's a mnemonic device."

  I blinked at him. "I think my hay fever is worse than I thought because I haven't understood one word since rainbow."

  Ryder shook himself out of his debate. "Sorry. Roy G. Biv is what people use to remember the colors of the rainbow. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet." He pointed to the matching tulip as he recited each color. "I'll arrange a rainbow of tulips in the front window."

  "I love it. It'll attract customers while letting them know that we have a wide variety of colors available." I rounded the work island to grab Kingston's can of treats. I only had to walk to that section of the counter, and the crow started his perch dance, sliding his long, clawed feet along the wooden dowel like a skater on ice. My bird had been extra good all morning while Ryder and I worked on the tulips. He deserved a reward.

  Kingston spread his black wings in anticipation of the peanuts. I dropped a handful into his dish and looked out the window. The flowering plum trees that lined Harbor Lane looked like a parade of pink popcorn trees, their fragile blossoms twittering in the on-shore breeze. An incredible display of nature's magnificence, they were almost blinding in their beauty. "Although, any window display, even a rainbow of tulips, is going to have a hard time competing with Harbor Lane's spectacular flowering plum trees." By summer the delicate, papery blooms would be replaced by dark plum foliage.

  "Very true." A short laugh followed. "Have you noticed those pink blossoms are like camouflage for the blush pink paint on your shop? If I didn't know it was sitting between the Coffee Hutch and Elsie's Sugar and Spice Bakery, I might have walked right past it."

  "I hadn't even thought of that. I suppose we are sort of invisible at the moment."

  "Then I'll just have to make the tulip display extra impressive." Ryder was rarely discouraged. At least not when it came to ideas for the shop. His love life was another thing altogether and that was mostly due to my best friend, and flightiest woman in Port Danby, Lola Button. The green-eyed monster had bitten Lola after Ryder started steadily dating Cherise. (Even though Lola refused to admit it.) After the Cherise episode ended with a breakup, I was sure Lola would finally come to her senses and realize that she was smitten with Ryder. She had fallen for him almost instantly, but the second Ryder had shown any interest in return, Lola turned her nose up and away. (Hence, the title 'flightiest woman in Port Danby'.) Now she'd found someone new, but I was holding out hope it wouldn't last. Not for Ryder's sake but for Lola's. And for our friendship. Chuck, the new man, was capital O obnoxious.

  "I give you free rein to create your rainbow display."

  "Thanks. By the way, boss, can I have a little extra time for lunch today?"

  "Of course." I grabbed a broom to sweep up the tulip trimmings. "Any special plans?"

  "Just having lunch with my friend, Denise, from high school. I haven't seen her since graduation. We used to be in all the same advanced placement classes. She finished her business degree but discovered soon after that she hated the business world. She wants to pursue art. She's taking a landscape painting class. They are down at Pickford Beach this morning working on oil paintings of the lighthouse."

  "How fun. That lighthouse is the perfect model for a painting. Tall, handsome and it doesn't move an inch." The Pickford Lighthouse was a beautiful reminder of the romantic, seafaring past. It could be admired from just about every street in town.

  Ryder laughed. "Never thought of that. I guess that does make for a great model."

 
The goat bell on the door chimed. Elsie, one of the fittest people I knew, was moving unusually slow as she carried in a plate of cupcakes mounded with luscious buttercream.

  I breathed in their scent. "I smell lemon and—hmm, I'm not sure. Maybe my allergies are affecting my sense of smell."

  "No, your old-fashioned cells are just fine."

  Ryder stifled a laugh at Elsie's substitution of old-fashioned for olfactory. I actually thought old-fashioned sounded much more enjoyable.

  "Lemon." Elsie pointed to two cakes that were pillowing over the tops of silver wrappers. She moved her fingers to the cakes wrapped in brown parchment cups. "Red velvet. They don't really have a distinct flavor unless that nose of yours can smell the color red. Then it really would be worth a million bucks." She lifted the cupcake as if she was lifting a heavy brick. "I think you'll find that the magic of red velvet is all in the cream cheese frosting, namely my cream cheese frosting."

  I took hold of the cupcake. It was just the weight I'd expected for a cupcake. "Elsie, what's wrong?"

  "Nothing." It was exactly the answer I'd anticipated. Elsie was one of those strong, confident people who never liked to show weakness.

  "Nothing? Then why did you just lift this petite, airy cake like it weighed ten pounds? And you walked into the shop like you were moving through tar, when you usually rocket in here like you have tiny thrusters on your shoes."

  "It's nothing. A little wrench in my back is all. I was taking some cakes out of the oven and I turned wrong. Did I tell you that my new patio furniture is coming today?"

  "Nice topic switch," I noted, wryly. "I thought the cardboard Mr. Darcy fiasco had made it all quiet on the western front and that peace would finally prevail. But it seems I was wrong."

  "Stop with that silly Table War stuff." Elsie went to wave her hand but stopped short of an actual wave, which meant she was truly in some pain. "It's just some cute little wicker couches. You know, something to spruce up the store front."

  "And something to lure customers away from Lester's highly popular counter-high pub tables."

  "Oh, these will lure people my way all right. They are comfy and covered with a charming sunflower printed fabric. Perfect for summer. I just wish everything didn't always happen on the same day. The furniture was supposed to be delivered earlier in the week. Now I'm busy baking for this weekend's big flea market."

  "The flea market? Are you going to sell your baked goods?"

  "I always sell my cupcakes at the annual flea market. I just hope I can make enough of the them to keep up with the high demand. Red velvet and lemon were my top sellers last year." Her phone beeped. "In fact, that's letting me know the next batch of lemon is done. I'll see you later." She forced a smile to hide the obvious pain she was feeling as she made every effort to hurry out as if she had rocket thrusters on her shoes.

  Ryder was peeling down the wrapper on a red velvet cupcake as I turned around. "I'd say she did more than just wrench her back a little."

  "I'll say. I'm worried about her. I just wish she could find a good assistant for the bakery. Someone who could meet all of Elsie's high standards."

  Ryder licked icing off his finger. "Guess not all shop owners are as lucky as you, boss."

  "I know you're being self-deprecating, but you don't know just how true that is, Ryder. You are irreplaceable, even if you're dropping red velvet crumbs all over the floor I just swept."

  Chapter 2

  The morning had started off with a bang. I'd taken five orders for tulip bouquets and one massive order for a June wedding. I pulled a can of root beer out of the mini refrigerator in the office. I kept it stocked with cold sodas and water bottles. The sodas were mostly for Ryder, but after the bustling morning, I decided I'd earned a root beer. The front door opened as I took a few hearty swigs.

  "Pink," Lola called from the front of the shop.

  I walked out from the office. Lola took notice of the root beer in my hand. "Uh oh, looks like you had an exhausting morning too." Lola's cheeks were red from the sun. She had pulled her hair up into a ponytail. It jutted out from the back of a camouflage trucker's hat. She was wearing a Garth Brooks' t-shirt that went very well with the hat.

  Lola climbed onto her favorite stool. Kingston wasted no time in joining the love of his life (which was not me even though I saved him from certain death and provided him with a constant flow of treats), at the work island. The bird landed right in a pile of leaf trimmings, managing to get one stuck on his long talon. He kicked the foot out several times to loosen the leaf from his claw, reminding me of the well-known dance that erupted after one walked out of a public bathroom with toilet paper stuck to a shoe. It took Kingston several tries to lose the leaf. Throughout the entire, somewhat embarrassing event, he didn't take his glassy black eyes off of Lola. But my friend was too steeped in her own thoughts to notice.

  "For goodness sake, Lola, acknowledge my bird before he crumples into a broken-hearted lump of black feathers."

  Lola reached unenthusiastically over to Kingston and stroked his head. "It's not you, King. It's me. I'm pooped."

  "Do you want a root beer?" I held up the can. "It's the perfect drink for a foamy head rush and much needed blood sugar spike."

  Lola shook her head. Then a spark of energy pushed her upright. She glanced quickly around the shop.

  "If you're looking for Ryder, he's at lunch. With someone named Denise who he knew in high school."

  Her posture drooped some. "I wasn't looking for Ryder. And I certainly don't care if he went to lunch with Debbie."

  "Denise."

  "Whatever." Lola always worked extra hard at showing disinterest when it came to Ryder. She dropped her hand away from Kingston. He looked thoroughly disappointed. "I've spent days picking out the perfect items for my flea market booth, old lamps, vintage glassware, mid century end tables, steamer trunks. You name it, I've got the collectible you're looking for. It took hours to haul the stuff down to the town square."

  "You should have asked for help. Ryder and I could have pitched in a few hands." I handed Kingston one of his favorite snacks, a crunchy peanut butter flavored dog treat. It seemed to lift him out of the funk Lola's lack of attention had brought on. He pinched the treat in his long beak and flew back to his perch. It was his favorite time of day in the window. The sun was at just the right angle to send its warming rays through the glass, shrouding his perch in a cozy glow.

  Lola hopped off the stool and lifted her hands up high for a yoga stretch. "I had plenty of help. Chuck is still between jobs, so I talked him into helping. He was two hours late, but he made up for it with his brute strength." She folded down to touch her feet.

  "Yes, of course. Chuck," I said and realized I sounded just like my mom when I told her I was going to the prom with Troy North. Troy wore a silver hoop in one ear and never brushed his long hair. It was my rebellious phase, a phase that ended quickly when I realized that along with his hair, he also never brushed his teeth.

  Lola had met Chuck (whose last name I hadn't even bothered to learn) at a friend's wedding. His dark blond hair was buzzed close to his large head. His square face was rivaled in width by his neck, and he wore t-shirts that were too tight for his thick build. And those were his charming attributes. He was always right about everything, even when he was spectacularly wrong. I was fairly certain it was that particularly irritating character trait that kept him from finding a permanent job.

  "Jeez, could you be any more obvious about your disapproval, Pink? You're supposed to be my friend. Not my mom."

  "You're right. I'll keep my mom tone to myself." I'd spent the last month telling myself not to spend too much time finding fault and distaste for the man because I was certain Lola would tire of him soon. Although, a month was a record for Lola. About two weeks in, I'd considered trying some reverse psychology where I pretended to be impressed and fond of Chuck. Then it dawned on me that my plan was doomed to failure. I just wasn't that good of an actress.

  Lol
a finished her stretch session. "Anyhow, the reason for my sour mood has nothing to do with Chuck. It has to do with Fiona Diggle."

  "Fiona Diggle? Who on earth is Fiona Diggle?"

  "Fiona is a hunched over, white-haired lady who lives off Culpepper Road in a hundred and fifty-year-old farmhouse. She probably saw the thing being built. She lives with her sister Rhonda, who is equally ancient. Rhonda is off visiting her sons in Arizona. So Fiona decided to clean out the attic of their old farmhouse. She paid a few high school kids to help her drag all the junk down to the flea market. Only it's not junk. It's chandeliers, nineteenth century furniture, porcelain dolls, paintings, there are even a few trunks. No one is going to look at my stuff because they can see it every day in my shop. But shoppers have never been up to Fiona's attic. Apparently not even Fiona. I can't believe how much stuff she hauled out to the market. And she set up right next to me. Every time one of those kids walked past with another attic treasure, my enthusiasm and my shoulders sank in despair."

  "Nonsense, you have cool antiques, and thanks to your world traveling parents, most of the things came from some distant, exotic location. In fact, that's the angle you should use. Put labels on your items telling people where they came from. I'm sure you'll get people standing in line and passing Fiona's attic treasures right by."

  Lola seemed to pep up from my suggestion. As she mulled over the idea, I leaned down to toss my soda can into the recycling bin under the counter. The door to the shop opened. I popped back up to greet my customer and was pleased to see I had a surprise visitor. Actually, two surprise visitors, Detective Briggs and the oversized, rowdy puppy that was dragging Briggs behind him on a leash.