Dahlias and Death Read online

  "Well, as long as the plane didn't leave early—"

  "Early?" he asked with those dark eyes that always seemed to shine at just the right moment.

  "Yes. They got there five hours ahead just in case that happened."

  Briggs was particularly nice with his smile today. "They get points for optimism."

  I laughed. "They should be getting in this evening around five." Bear loped behind the counter to look for the treat jar. The massive puppy was quickly growing into his gargantuan paws and floppy ears. His spotted gray fur was taking on a nice silver sheen. He was a good looking dog. He looked extra wonderful next to his owner.

  I headed to the treat jar that I kept filled with chicken flavored treats just for Bear. His wet nose twitched back and forth in the air before I even took off the lid. "It seems I'm going to be replaced as the smell expert soon." I gave Bear the treat.

  "I don't think so. He's only interested if the smell leads to a treat." Another nice grin. This one a little lopsided. His usual five o'clock shadow was a few hours ahead of schedule. It always made him look just slightly roguish, especially with the crooked smile.

  Briggs leaned against the work stool on the opposite side of the counter. He seemed less cool and confident than usual. But it wasn't agitation. Briggs was always a hard man to read. That came from being a detective.

  He reached up and combed his fingers through his hair. "Are you planning to go to the fireworks show Wednesday night?" The question seemed to come out faster than he expected.

  "Of course. It sounds fun." I leaned my forearms on the work island. "How about you? Or do you have to work?"

  "Yes, no." He shook his head once. "I mean, yes, I was planning on going and no, I don't have to work." He stared at me over the work island for a few seconds. For that instant, I could almost convince myself that my theory of him not being interested was wrong.

  "I was wondering—" he started. "Well, that is, if you don't already have a—" He stopped short of saying the word date. A twinge of disappointment grabbed me and held tightly. "What I'm asking . . . with all the eloquence of jabbering numbskull . . . is—I would love it if we could go together."

  The phrase 'heart be still' circled my head a few seconds while I waited to make sure he didn't end it with a hearty laugh and a gotcha. Nope. His warm brown eyes waited with sparkling patience for my answer.

  "I would like that, Detective Briggs." Right then, before the moment could be absorbed and analyzed too much, Bear hopped up on his back legs and clunked his big paws down on the counter. He panted hot breath toward Briggs.

  "You're not invited," Briggs said. "Besides, you cower under the bed at thunder." He turned back to me with a profound look of concern. "I hadn't even thought about the noise from the fireworks show. Do you think he'll be all right?" In a few short months, Briggs had gone from an extremely reluctant dog owner to an overprotective dog parent. It was nothing short of adorable.

  "You might ask the veterinarian if he can suggest something to help calm him. But if he's locked inside, I think he'll be all right." I quickly worried that he was having second thoughts about taking me to the fireworks show. "Of course, if you think you should stay home with Bear. I would understand."

  Briggs' shoulders sank some. "No, not unless you've got someone else to go with?"

  We sure were like-minded. "Nope, I'm free that night."

  "Great. Sounds like a plan. I guess I better get back to the paperwork I've been putting off all day. Come on, Bear. You can annoy Hilda for awhile so I can get some work done." Briggs walked out with his giant sidekick trotting behind him.

  I, of course, waited for them to be well out of sight before heading straight out the door and across the street to Lola's Antiques. Lola came out from the backroom as I stepped into the shop. She was wearing her favorite vintage Led Zeppelin t-shirt. I instantly noticed she had on more makeup than usual.

  "Are you going somewhere?" I asked.

  Her normally reddish lashes were black with mascara. She batted them in surprise. "No, why do you ask?"

  "Well . . ." I pointed to my own face hoping it might jog her memory about the unusually heavy mascara and lipstick. "It's just that you're wearing makeup."

  "So are you." She scooted behind the glass counter that contained trays of vintage jewelry, antique lighters and every small bauble one might have worn in an earlier century.

  "I'm not wearing that much," I protested far too abruptly, as if my dash of mascara was a crime. "Besides, I always wear it but you—" I flipped my hand. "Never mind. Not important." I cozied up to her counter. "I have something to tell you."

  Her cocoa brown eyes glittered. "Me too. And my news will probably give you apoplexy."

  I laughed. "Apoplexy? My friend, you have spent too many hours with your antiques. But I'll play along. I think my news might just give you the vapors, so we should probably move this chat to that old satin fainting couch in the corner." I was kidding but Lola liked the suggestion. Late Bloomer, Lola's elderly dog, was snoring at the foot of the fainting couch. Dust popped up from the worn satin upholstery as Lola and I sat, causing me to sneeze.

  I rubbed my nose. "I swear I can still smell whatever Victorian perfume the owner of this couch was wearing when she rested on it. Violet, I think."

  "Wow." Lola shook her head. "You're good. Or should I say, that nose is good. Violet was a Victorian favorite so you're probably right. When you die, that little super sniffer needs to be chopped off and hung in a museum or given to science."

  I leaned back and pursed my lips at her suggestion.

  "Sorry," Lola said. "My parents sent all these creepy antique medical school displays and teaching models they found in England. Guess I'm in sort of a macabre mood. Except, then something very un-macabre and cool happened at lunch. But you first. Oh wait. How was the garden club meeting? Does it have to do with that?"

  I blew a puff of exasperated air from my lips. "Yes, that's it. We're going to sell herbs at the festival." I poked her shoulder. "See. Vapors, right?"

  She stared at me for a second through one eye. "You're joking, aren't you?"

  "Yes. Silly. The garden club meeting was interesting because there are some fascinating dynamics between the members, but I'll save that for another time because I've got to get back. Briggs came into the flower shop a few minutes ago. He asked me if I wanted to watch the fireworks show with him. And now, saying it out loud, it's just about as exciting as the herb sale." My posture sagged. "I think I'm reading too much into it. It's just fireworks."

  "No, you're not. I'm not sure when or how it happened, but the fireworks show somehow morphed into a sort of romantic date thing. There will be families and chirpy little kids twittering about, but it's definitely considered a date if someone asks you." Lola pulled a rubber band out of her jean shorts and wrapped her thick red hair in a ponytail.

  "I don't know. I'm feeling kind of deflated about the whole thing. He sort of made a point of avoiding the D word when he asked. I'm just so confused about our friendship. I mean, I've been in relationships, and as my mom will tell you, I've even broken off a perfectly good engagement for a trivial reason like him sneaking behind my back. I'm not a kid anymore, but I have absolutely no idea where I stand with Briggs. One minute, I think things are heading toward something serious and the next, I'm thinking I'm just a buddy that he likes to hang out with. Ugh, he's destroyed my confidence. I shouldn't even watch the fireworks with him."

  Lola reached over and squeezed my face between her hands. "Snap out of it before I have to slap you. You're over-thinking everything. Just go, enjoy the show and see what happens."

  I took a deep breath and sucked in some more ancient dust from the couch. I coughed into my fist and stood up to avoid the musty cloud. Lola hopped up too but Late Bloomer kept on snoring.

  "What's your news?" I asked. "Wait, before you tell me, I'm going to tell you something else. Only you can't tell the person I'm about to talk about. He'd be upset if he knew that I t
alked to you about this."

  Lola tapped her chin. "Let me guess. You're going to say something about Ryder?" Her dry, sarcastic tone drowned my hopes that she'd take my suggestion but I forged ahead.

  "I think you should ask Ryder to the fireworks show or at least hint to him that you don't have a date."

  She lifted her chin. "How do you know I don't have a date? It just so happens I do."

  "Do you? Oh poop. Ryder will be disappointed. Just let him down easy if he asks."

  Lola grabbed the feather duster from the counter and began flipping it over the ornate shades on a pair of Victorian lamps. "A good, supportive friend would ask me who my date was before lecturing about how to politely reject someone."

  "You're right, Lola. I guess I'm just worried about Ryder. So, who is the lucky man? And please don't let it be that weird, loud guy who works on the crab boat."

  "Ick no. I thought he was cute for about four seconds. We never even met for that cup of coffee." She ran her feather duster across several bookshelves. It seemed she was drawing this out for dramatic effect.

  "Well?" I said.

  "I'm going with Ryder. He asked me earlier today."

  I did the fast clap thing for a few seconds and then hugged her. One date, or possible date, and I was back in high school. This time it was the feather duster that caused me to sneeze. "This store and my sensitive nose are not a good match."

  "Guess that says more about my shop keeping skills than your nose," she said. "Shouldn't you be leaving soon to pick your parents up at the airport?"

  "I've been spared the long drive by my dad's urge to drive a convertible along the coast. He rented a car for the vacation. I just hope they can find my house. They haven't exactly mastered the map app on the phone. Let's just say, they've been stranded in many a strange place because 'map lady' as my mom calls the voice, led them astray. Well, I've got to head back and finish planting herbs for the garden club booth."

  Lola moved on to an antique hat rack where she'd hung some straw hats that were festooned with a broad red, white and blue ribbon. "Hey, maybe we should wear matching hats for the big evening." She was kidding, of course, but it reminded me of the stressful garden club meeting.

  "Remind me to tell you about that garden club meeting and our dear friend Kate Yardley and her questionable business practices."

  Lola's eyes rounded. "Now I've got to hear it. I'll definitely remind you."

  I pushed open the door. "Later."

  Chapter 5

  A flashy blue Mustang convertible pulled into the driveway. I'd gone through every emotion, which included trepidation, horror and worry, waiting for my parents visit but now seeing them, looking excited, sporty and a touch sunburned in their rental car, I was thrilled about the visit.

  Mom pushed her pearl white sunglasses higher on her nose and exited the sports car like she was just about to walk the red carpet. She'd let her natural silver gray start to take over her light brown hair. She'd had it cut short and chic and styled with a lot of whips, flips and turns, reminding me of the frosting on a cupcake. It must have been coated heavily with hairspray because the trip from the airport in the open car hadn't knocked one strand out of place. She was wearing one of six new t-shirts she'd bought for the trip. I'd received a flurry of pictures from her shopping adventure. Apparently, once she'd found the shirt she liked, she bought the same style in six different colors, one for each day of the visit. Today was magenta day.

  Mom scurried to the front porch squealing all the way. It seemed she was getting faster and more energetic with each passing year.

  She stopped and put her hands on her hips to lob the first advice in a long string of unwanted advice nuggets, her specialty. "I think a new yellow coat of paint would spruce this place up."

  "I agree but my wallet does not." We simultaneously threw open our arms for a hug.

  Over her shoulder, I caught Dad struggling to get a heavy suitcase out of the trunk. "I'm going to help Dad. Go inside, Mom. There's some lemonade on the counter."

  "Hmm, that sounds good. Convertibles are overrated," she said in a low voice, even though there was no way Dad could hear her over his symphony of grunts and curses.

  "Dad, let me help." I reached the bottom step and wondered why I hadn't heard the screen door snap shut. Mom was standing at the screen staring cautiously inside.

  "Kingston is in his cage," I called. "I warned him he was too scary for Grandma. His feelings are hurt, but I'll make it up to him with treats."

  "A menacing black crow for a grandchild. What did I do wrong?" She scoffed to herself as she entered the house. I knew too well that by the time I walked inside with Dad, Mom would have memorized a list of changes that needed to be made to make my house more livable.

  Dad's face was red from strain. He stopped his quest to free the heavy suitcase from the tiny trunk. "I think she packed bowling balls in this thing." Dad's face rolled up into his warm smile and we hugged. His hair had receded and his belly had proceeded (or whatever the opposite of receded was) since my last trip home at Christmas. He'd told me then that while other people worked to trim their tummies, he was working on a big belly because it would be the perfect ledge for the television remote.

  I patted his belly. "Guess you're working hard toward that remote shelf, eh?"

  "Yep, and now we've got that other thingamagoo for the subscription channels, so I need room for two remotes. Thanksgiving ought to do the trick."

  I laughed and hugged him again. "It's so good to see you, Dad. Can't wait to introduce you to my new friends."

  As if on cue, Dash pulled into his driveway. He waved at us. Dash and I had come to a friendship agreement after an awkward kiss attempt at Pickford Lighthouse. That uncomfortable moment was soon followed by a terrifying attack by a murderer. Both Dash and Briggs were nearby and saved me, then they tore into each other. Even after working together to do something heroic, (like saving the local flower shop owner) they were still ready to throw fists at each other. The source of the anger was still a mystery to me, but since Dash and I lived next door to each other, we decided to remain friends. I was relieved.

  I motioned Dash over even though he was already heading our way. "Nice wheels," he commented and stuck out his hand. "I'm Dash, Lacey's neighbor. You must be Stanley Pinkerton. Nice to meet you."

  "Since you're here, big strong neighborly fella—" I pointed to Mom's lead weighted suitcase that was jammed unhelpfully into a small trunk.

  Dash did a short flex show of his arms before reaching in and plucking the case out as if it contained pillows.

  The screen door popped open. My mom didn't have my super sense of smell but she could catch the scent of a handsome, eligible bachelor from a mile away. Or in this case, a small front room and eight foot wide porch away. She was a blur of magenta cotton as she sailed down the steps and across the lawn to the driveway.

  "And this has to be the lovely Peggy Pinkerton." Dash kissed the back of her hand. The man had charm down to a magnificent art. I hated to tell him that he didn't need to try so hard. As long as you were tall, dark and single, you were a prince in my mom's book.

  For obvious reasons, like one glaring magenta clad reason, I kept details about the men in my life to a minimum during our weekly mother-daughter chats. Mom nearly crumpled into a wilted ball of sobs when I told her I'd broken off my engagement to Jacob, the wealthy (philandering) heir to a perfume fortune. Ever since that heartbreak (hers more than mine) she'd taken it upon herself to find a suitable replacement. Fortunately for me, I lived a four hour flight from home, so she had to give up on the idea of playing matchmaker with various bridge club members' second cousins and single sons.

  Dash carried the suitcase up the steps while Mom recuperated from the hand kiss. Dad followed right along with him telling him about the ride over in the Mustang. I followed behind with Mom. I could have pre-scripted her exact words long before she uttered them. She was that predictable.

  Her hair moved with her he
ad in one silver crown of hairspray as she tilted closer to whisper. "Oh wow, he sure is handsome. What did you say he did for a living?"

  "He's a boat mechanic down in the marina."

  I sensed her enthusiastic posture wilt some. "Oh well, I suppose some things can be overlooked."

  I stopped short of the porch and kept my whisper low. "Yep and you can keep overlooking. We are just friends." Mom's footsteps pounded the wood porch steps just a little harder than necessary as we climbed up them and entered the house.

  I had taken Elsie's blueberry dessert out of the refrigerator so it would be easier to cut. The rich, fruity scent of berries filled the air. The fragrance certainly had Kingston on alert. He slid back and forth along the perch in his cage, trying hard not to be insulted about being locked inside before bedtime.

  "Stay for some refreshment, Dash," Mom offered quickly. She'd been in my house twenty seconds and had apparently stepped directly into the role of hostess. She hated not being hostess. More than once, I'd seen her take over my Aunt Rhonda's Thanksgiving feast so quickly and thoroughly, Rhonda ended up thanking Mom for the lovely meal and table settings as we left.

  Mom turned her glittering eyes my way. "Why, sweetie, did you bake this? It's beautiful and smells delicious." She shook her head. "Lacey is so talented."

  I winked at Dash. "Yes, it took an amazing amount of skill to drive Elsie's dessert home from the shop. Carried it in by myself and everything."

  Thankfully Dad stopped the silly conversation. "Lacey, is this the same crow you've always had?"

  Dash caught my arched brow and stifled a grin.

  I walked to the cage. Kingston fluffed in anger and then fluttered his wings hard enough to cause my dad to take a step back.

  "That's the same old, spoiled bird, Kingston. Should I let him out so you can give him a treat?" Right then, Kingston turned his menacing beak toward my dad and favored him with one of his crow death stares.

  "Some other time, Lacey. It's been a long day. I think I'll have some of that lemonade."