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  Freesias and Foul Play

  Port Danby Cozy Mystery #12

  London Lovett

  Wild Fox Press

  Freesias and Foul Play

  Copyright © 2020 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

  Banana Walnut Muffins

  Recipe Card

  More Mystery!

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  The familiar chime of the bell on the door was followed by Lola. This morning she had my pet crow perched uncharacteristically on her shoulder. The cold snap, a mid-spring surprise, curled its frosty tendrils around the shop before the door swung shut. I pulled the edges of my sweater closer to ward off the chill that had come with my scratchy sore throat (another mid-spring surprise).

  Kingston stayed securely on Lola's shoulder and would probably stay there until coaxed away from the love of his life by one of Elsie's peanut butter dog treats, the second love of his life. I fell somewhere after Lola, the treats, perching in one of the town square's pine trees and rummaging through crumbly beach picnic leftovers with his adopted family, the Port Danby seagulls. But then who was I? I only saved the bird from certain death and provided him with a secure, warm home and all the hardboiled eggs he could eat. Lola merely had to smile his direction, and his beady black eyes glittered with stars and hearts. Not literally, of course, but they were easy to imagine with the way he looked at her.

  With a huff, Lola hopped up onto the stool at my work island. "I'm reliving my worst childhood nightmare." One thing I discovered early on about Lola was that she rarely wasted time with mundane greetings like hello and good morning. She usually just jumped into whatever was on her mind for the day.

  I pushed a yellow rose into the arrangement I was creating for a birthday gift. "You never told me having a crow land on your shoulder was your worst childhood nightmare."

  "What?" She glanced over at Kingston. They were nose to beak for a moment, then Kingston shyly turned to stare casually out the window. "No, not Kingston. By the way, if you're wondering why we're together, like pirate and friend today, it's because your bird now feels perfectly free to trot into the antique shop every time the opportunity presents itself. He spent the morning strutting along my front counter, leaving talon prints on my newly polished glass. Mrs. Churchill, from over on Dawson Grove, walked inside the shop, placed her fists on her ample hips and said, 'oh no, not you too? Does every shop owner in Port Danby have a pet crow?' I tried to explain to her that Kingston was the same crow she saw in the flower shop, but she talked right over me going on about how the crows destroy her vegetable gardens and scoff at the scarecrow she spent hours sewing and stuffing with straw."

  "I guess we can conclude that Mrs. Churchill, like our dear mayor, is not a fan of crows." I pulled a long strand of silky blue ribbon off the spool.

  "My sweater is not a fan of his talons." Lola pointed discretely at Kingston. "Maybe a treat or something, so I can rid myself of the sharp-clawed hitchhiker."

  I chuckled as I reached for the treat can. "Sorry about that. You should have made him fly over." I cleared my rough throat and dug out a treat.

  Kingston hopped off Lola's shoulder, plucked the treat from my fingers and flew across to his window perch to enjoy it.

  Lola tilted her head at me. "Why do you sound as if you've been screaming and singing along at a concert?"

  I swallowed a sip of my tea and scrunched my nose. "That sure got cold fast." I put the cup down. "I woke up with a sore throat."

  Lola leaned back, apparently out of germ range. "Don't give it to me. My colds always end with two weeks of an annoying cough." The door opened and Ryder walked inside to start his shift. Lola pointed at him. "And don't give it to him either because then I'm guaranteed to get it."

  Ryder pulled off his coat. "Don't give me what?"

  "I've been instructed, actually commanded, not to give you my cold." I tied a bow around the vase in front of me.

  Ryder looked properly sympathetic. "You're sick, boss? You poor thing. I'll go down to Franki's later and buy you some hot soup."

  I lifted a brow at Lola. "See, that's how a true friend reacts when someone is sick."

  Lola shrugged. "I'm a true friend, and I'm there for you when you need me, just not when you're sick. I'm selfish like that," she said with complete confidence and not an ounce of shame.

  I wound up the rest of the blue ribbon. "You never told me why you were reliving your childhood's worst nightmare."

  My statement caught Ryder's attention. His face snapped Lola's direction. "Did you find a spider on your toothbrush again?"

  A laugh spurted from my mouth. "Wait, that's your worst childhood nightmare? A spider on your toothbrush?"

  Lola shrugged. "Go ahead, make fun but that little spider traumatized me so badly, I refused to brush my teeth for a week."

  "Yuck," Ryder and I muttered in unison.

  "Thanks goodness you got over that bit of trauma," Ryder continued in the same muted tone.

  "Anyhow, the spider incident wasn't my worst childhood nightmare, it was my third worst. Second place went to the time when I threw up in front of my fourth grade class while reading aloud my spring poem."

  "I hope this whole conversation gets less gross." I leaned back to admire my work. The yellow roses looked amazing with puffs of dark blue hydrangeas.

  Ryder nodded with approval. "That looks great."

  "Thanks." I said. "So, what is number one on the list?"

  "Flying monkeys," Lola said succinctly. "I just saw two of them walking out of Les's shop with mocha lattes, and they brought back all kinds of terrifying memories."

  "I take it you're talking about the two actors from the traveling Oz play. I saw them handing out flyers this morning. They do look a little creepy in full costume," I noted.

  "A little creepy?" Lola asked.

  "What do you have against a little theater and culture?" Ryder asked. "I saw Mayor Price this morning. He is so proud of this whole Wizard of Oz event at the town square, you'd think he wrote the book himself. I thought the costumes were cool." He was obviously feeling a touch contrary this morning. Fortunately, Lola was too steeped in her nightmare about creepy flying monkeys to notice.

  "My parents insisted I watch that stupid movie with the scary green witch, talking scarecrows and all the other horrifying characters," Lola continued. "I still remember the night well. My mom popped a big bowl of popcorn—microwave, of course. That was the extent of her cooking talents. We all sat down on th
e couch to watch what they insisted was one of the best movies of all time. I spent half of it with the couch pillow over my face and the other half curled up hiding behind my dad's shoulder. Needless to say, I did not come away thinking it was the best movie of all time. Frankly, I should have walked out when that wretched lady came and took Toto away. That should have been my clue that it was all going to go downhill from there."

  I picked up the arrangement to put in the cooler to stay fresh. "It wasn't one of my favorite movies, but I didn't find it all that scary."

  "You don't sound good, boss," Ryder said. He took the arrangement from me. "You should probably avoid refrigeration today."

  "Thanks. I'm definitely feeling this cold snap in my bones."

  "Well, I guess I'll head back to my shop," Lola said. "Seems I won't get any sympathy for my flying monkey phobia in here this morning."

  I picked up the various stem pieces strewn on the work island. "I take it that means you're not going to opening night at the play. The whole town will be there. James and I have two seats right up front."

  "She flatly refused when I asked her," Ryder said as he returned from the cooler.

  "Yes, and I'm sticking with that refusal. I don't need to start all those weird dreams again." Lola shivered at the memory.

  "Boy, that movie really traumatized you," I said, trying to sound sympathetic but unable to completely suppress my amusement. Lola was one of those brave, devil-may-care people who rarely let things frighten her. Whereas, I lost my marbles whenever a power outage turned out the lights. It was nice to find some holes in her armor.

  Lola, knowing me too well, sensed that I was wholly entertained by her flying monkey phobia. "Again, it seems I came to the wrong place for solace and support this morning." She hopped off the stool, but Ryder interrupted her march to the door with a brief hug and kiss.

  "I think it's adorable that you're afraid of actors dressed like monkeys," he said. "And if you need me to come save you from them, just text."

  She stared up at him. "Mockery camouflaged by a sweet kiss is still mockery. I'm going to leave the shop of flower arranging meanies and head to my own safe zone where I won't be ridiculed." She headed toward the door.

  "Thanks for bringing my bird back," I said. "And feel free to shoo him out of your store anytime."

  "Why would I do that? Kingston loves me unconditionally, unlike my best friend and boyfriend." With that, she swept out of the store.

  Ryder and I had one more chuckle as we watched her stop at the curb and look up and down the street (apparently for flying monkeys) before dashing across and inside the antique store as if someone was chasing her.

  "Poor thing," I mused. "She is really freaked out by those monkeys."

  Ryder couldn't hold back a grin. "Guess I've picked out my next Halloween costume."

  Chapter 2

  I'd just finished cleaning up from the birthday arrangement when an unfamiliar couple walked into the shop. The woman, a petite thirty-something with curly brown hair and large brown eyes, was clinging possessively to the man's arm. He looked about the same age as the woman but with straw blond hair and wide-set hazel eyes. He walked with sort of a clumsy galumph as they approached the counter. Their matching t-shirts were emblazoned with the words Auburn Theater Group.

  I smiled broadly. "How exciting. You two are with the traveling play. I've got tickets for opening night. Can't wait to see it."

  They both grinned proudly. "We're looking forward to a packed house," the man said. His voice was hoarse like mine, only I doubted his was caused by a sore throat. He pried his arm from the woman's grasp and tapped his chest. "I'm Gordon Houser. I play Scarecrow."

  I smiled again. "Even more exciting to meet the actual cast members." I turned my pleased expression toward the woman. She seemed a little less inclined to introduce herself.

  "Constance Jeeves," she said quietly. "I have a variety of parts, including a Munchkin and a flying monkey." She listed her character parts quickly.

  "How wonderful. My friend and I were just having a lively conversation about flying monkeys. It seems two of your fully costumed cast members were hopping about town this morning handing out flyers for the play."

  "Yes, that was at the mayor's request," Gordon interjected. He squinted, trying to remember his name. "Mayor Pierce?"

  "Mayor Price," I corrected. "Yes, he's very excited to have the play come to our small, humble town."

  Ryder came out from the back holding a vase filled with red roses.

  Constance perked right up to her tiptoes to get a better look at them. "Look, Gordon, that's what I want. They'll look perfect on my dressing table." She turned to him with shiny, adoring eyes. "Then I can think of you while I'm getting ready."

  Gordon seemed less enthusiastic about having to shell out money for roses. "Red roses are always the most expensive. How about some nice chrysanthemums?"

  Constance sat back sharply on her heels and put on an impressive pout. "Red roses show you love me."

  Gordon was saved from the awkward moment by his phone. He pulled it from his pocket and looked at it. His face flushed lightly.

  "Is that Susana again?" Constance asked with dramatic exasperation.

  "Uh, yeah, it's Susana. Excuse me for a second." Gordon walked over to the window and noticed Kingston for the first time. He decided to take a few steps away from the large, black bird to send a return text.

  Constance turned to me. "Our director is so needy. I don't know how she manages to put on a successful production." She was not hindered by Gordon's lack of enthusiasm for the red roses. "How much for a dozen of the red roses?" she asked, apparently determined to have them.

  "They're thirty dollars a dozen or three dollars a stem," I said.

  She bit her lip in thought, then glanced across the room. Gordon was still deep in a text conversation. He wasn't paying an ounce of attention to his friend, and she became instantly irritated.

  "Oh my gosh, just tell Susana to deal with her problem alone," she snapped.

  Gordon sent off one last text and pushed the phone into his pocket. He returned to the counter. My own take on his expression was that he was feeling guilty about something but then what did I know about actors and their everyday facial emotions.

  "What did she want?" Constance asked. It seemed like a perfectly reasonable follow-up question, but it threw Gordon off his stride.

  "Who? Oh, you mean Su—Susana," he stuttered over the name. A long drawn out shrug followed. "You know Susie, she's always worrying about silly things."

  Constance swallowed the explanation without further questioning. I wasn't entirely sure Gordon was telling the truth about any of it.

  "They're three dollars each or you can save money if you buy me a dozen." Constance was back on her flower order.

  "Three dollars each?" he asked with big eyes. "I could just pick you some out of a garden."

  Constance was irritated and not just because of Gordon's lack of eagerness for the rose purchase. She groaned in frustration as she shoved back the sleeve of her coat, exposing a red, splotchy rash. She rubbed it several times. "This rash is getting worse."

  I peered over the counter at her arm. "Wow, that looks miserable. Food allergy?" I asked.

  "It's from the makeup for the flying monkey costume. They cake the stuff on to make it look like fur. I've got splotches like this all over." Constance pushed her sleeve back down. The rash complaint didn't seem to soften up Gordon's stance on the roses. She blinked her oversized eyes at him. "It sure would be nice to have some flowers to brighten my mood."

  It was hard to understand how Gordon allowed himself to be led into the flower shop in the first place. He finally relented and pulled out his wallet with a frustrated sigh. "We'll take six roses." Constance opened her mouth to protest, but he stopped her with a fatherly head tilt. "I think we should spend the rest of the money on a salve for that rash. After all, there's a dress rehearsal this afternoon, and Susie called for full costume. You'll
be stuck in that makeup all night."

  "I suppose you're right, Gordy. What would I do without you?"

  I nodded to Ryder and pulled out my receipt pad as he set to work plucking six, lush red roses from the container to arrange in a small bouquet.

  I grabbed a pen. "So, you're doing a dress rehearsal before the opening show?" I asked. "That seems tiring."

  "That's because our silly director forgot to schedule the dress rehearsal," Constance explained. "Now, we're all going to be frazzled, and our costumes won't be fresh for opening night. But don't worry, the play will be wonderful," she added briskly.

  "I'm sure of it," I said.

  Gordon's phone beeped again. He walked over to the window, but this time he paused to admire Kingston before returning a text.

  "Seriously," Constance said in exasperation. "Now what? She should start sharing her salary with you." Constance turned back to me. "He's so smart. That's why the director always needs his assistance. We've been together for two years." She leaned closer to lower her voice. "I'm just waiting for him to work up the courage to propose. I can tell you if he doesn't pop the question soon, I'm going to ask him myself. I mean, who ever invented the rule that the guy has to propose? Right?"

  Ryder handed her the roses. "I suppose the same guy who made up the rule that men have to buy the flowers." He winked and walked away, leaving that little chunk of sarcasm hovering in the rose scented air. My normally gentlemanly assistant was definitely in a mood this morning.