Read Online Nightshade on Elm Street: A Flower Shop Mystery by Kate Collins - Free Book Online Page A

trust me enough to tell me.
    “As soon as I have permission, I’ll tell you.”
    “Good.” With a straight face, she said, “Now, are you going to eat my mostaccioli or sit there jabbering all day?” Then she broke into a wide smile and put her arms around my shoulders. “I’m teasing you,
bella
.”
    Whew. She’d frightened me there for a second.
    “How are the shower preparations coming along?” she asked.
    “They’re coming,” I said cheerily, hoping she’d leave it at that. But did that ever happen in Abby’s world?
    “Do you have lists of what you need?” she asked.
    “I keep a notebook and check things off as I order them.”
    “Are you still determined to do all the work for this big shower yourself?”
    “I am.”
    “Even though it breaks your mother’s heart not to be included? And your cousin’s? And your guests will miss out on the best lasagna they’ve ever eaten in their lives?”
    I blinked rapidly, trying to think of something to say. Then I saw Francesca lift an eyebrow, and I smiled. She was teasing again.
    She put the baking dish in the fridge and walked to the doorway, pausing to give me a pitying glance. “I am afraid you will regret this decision one day,
bella
.” Then with a heavy sigh, she left.
    Not teasing.
    Once Francesca had gone and Grace and Lottie were in their accustomed places, I turned my attention to the orders on the spindle. The first one was an arrangement for a woman’s fortieth birthday. Her husband had requested brightly colored blossoms using anything but roses, which he considered extravagantly expensive, so I circled around the big slate-topped worktable in the middle of the room and walked over to the giant coolers where we stored our fresh flowers.
    Inside the left cooler, I surveyed my stock and decided on an orange and yellow color scheme, perfect forlate summer. I pulled stems of
Dahlia
‘Golden Charmer’, with its wonderfully large flower head; the delicate, lilylike
Crocosmia
‘Rowallane Yellow’; the creamy yellow spikes of
Gladiolus tristis
; and
Chrysanthemum
‘Sunny Le Mans’, a yellow flower with an orange center. I added green fern leaves to the mix, then carried them back to the table where my tools lay.
    Nothing relaxed me as much as arranging flowers. While I prepared the pot, trimmed stems, and created my living masterpiece, I was in a zone, totally engrossed in what I was doing. In that state, I worked my way through seven orders, until a familiar “Yoo-hoo” from the other side of the curtain caught my attention.
    Mom had arrived.
    Correction: Mom
and
her latest work of art—my third piece of bad luck. The day was complete.

C HAPTER S IX

    B efore I could mentally prepare myself for her latest atrocity, the curtain parted and Maureen “Mad Mo” Knight burst into the room with a big box in her arms. She was followed by my thirteen-year-old niece, Tara, who bounced with excitement.
    “Grandma has a surprise for you, Aunt Abby,” Tara sang out.
    The noun
surprise
never did Mom’s creations justice.
Shock
, maybe.
    I put down my floral knife and pasted on a smile. “Oh, boy. Can’t wait.”
    “I hope we’re not disturbing you, Abigail,” Mom said, looking around for a place to set the carton.
    Whether I was disturbed would depend greatly on what was inside the box.
    You would never know it from her often outrageous creations, but my mother is a quiet, kindhearted, churchgoing kindergarten teacher who raised my two brothers and me with a firm hand. She stands five feet five inches tall, has light brown hair shot through with a few gray hairs, golden brown eyes, and creamy skin with nary a freckle to mar it. Lucky her.
    Usually her outfit was geared to working with five-year-olds, but because she was still on summer break, she was wearing a short-sleeved floral-print blouse and light green capris with beige sandals.
    Tara twirled around me. “Set it on the worktable, Grandma. Hurry! I can’t wait to see Aunt Abby’s