Read Online Floral Depravity by Beverly Allen - Free Book Online Page B

emergency . . . sire. I . . .” I stumbled to recall anything I might have learned from old movies. Robin Hood maybe. “I beg . . . clemency, your highness.” And I ended that with a curtsy. Yes, Grandma Mae had taught both Liv and me to curtsy. I had never found it of any use until now.
    â€œIf you dress like a man, bow like a man. But we appreciate the effort. You may stay. But you must replace the water you have used.”
    â€œYes, sire,” I said, wondering how I was going to do that. And wondering if there was anything he could do if I left and never followed through on my promise. I’d be carting water through the woods all week.
    He gave a curt nod, then turned and left. His entourage remained behind.
    One of the men went immediately to Brad, and the two of them headed off to have an animated discussion. Another took Bixby by the arm.
    â€œI have to what?” Bixby shouted, shaking him off.
    Yet another headed to Opie, still in her sweats from our midnight romp in the woods. I couldn’t tell what they were saying, but after a few moments Opie rushed away, brushing a tear from her cheek.
    I followed her. “What happened?”
    She shook her head. “I have to leave. Second strike, I guess. They weren’t happy with my dress choice. Now I have to go back. It’s going to be a research paper for me.”
    I pulled her into a hug. With a possible murderer running around the camp, maybe she was safer back in town. Maybe we all were.
    That’s when we heard the gunfire.
    *   *   *
    I was well behind Bixby—jogging has never really been my thing—headed in the direction from which the shot came. Chickens fluttered, half running and half flying down the pathway.
    The path, probably an old deer run, ended abruptly at a decrepit fence. Bixby got there first. “What are you doing?” he shouted.
    When I came out of the woods, I saw Larry, our main local flower supplier and dear family friend, standing next to the fence and holding a shotgun.
    â€œTrying to keep those dad-blamed chickens out of my fall bulbs. They’re rooting up everything.”
    â€œYou can’t go shooting them,” Bixby said.
    â€œI wasn’t shooting them,” Larry said. “If I was shooting them, they’d be dead. I was shooting near them, to drive them back onto the other side of the fence. This is a zoned agricultural area. I have every right.” He turned to look at me. “Audrey? What are you doing here? And in that getup?” He snickered. “You look like Joan of Arc.”
    â€œLong story, Larry. What are you doing out here?” Before he could answer, I looked past the fence to where the forest gave way to neatly planted farm rows. Behind them, I could just make out a greenhouse. “Wait, is this the back of your second location? The one you rent from the Rawlings?”
    Larry had kept the greenhouse private while he worked on cultivating a blue rose that he’d named after our Grandma Mae. He sends us all we can sell, and we ship them around the country.
    Larry smiled his signature Kewpie doll smile. “One and the same. I just started clearing the fields for spring bulbs.” His smile dimmed and his grasp on the shotgun grew tighter. “Only the livestock from that stupid camp keep breaking down the fences.”
    â€œWait. Do you mean to tell me the road’s right through there?” Bixby asked.
    Larry nodded. “Private property, though.”
    Bixby sent him an incredulous sneer. “Would have helped to know that last night,” he muttered.
    â€œWhat?” Larry asked.
    â€œThere was an emergency here last night,” I said. “They had to carry a man a mile to the nearest road. Didn’t you hear the helicopter?”
    â€œI did,” Larry said. “But I thought it might have been something about the fires. Wow, I would have let an emergency crew