Night of the Living Dandelion
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Epigraph
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Teaser chapter
Praise for the Flower Shop Mysteries
Dirty Rotten Tendrils
“Each book in this series contains murder, continuous mayhem, a bit of sizzle, and one justice-seeking amateur sleuth.”
—Once Upon a Romance Reviews
“Abby is an excellent heroine who finds herself in some of the most unlikely, entertaining situations.”
—The Mystery Reader
Sleeping with Anemone
“A nimble, well-crafted plot with forget-me-not characters.”
—Laura Childs, author of the Tea Shop Mysteries
“A treat not to be missed.”
—Kate Carlisle, author of the Bibliophile Mysteries
“Foul play fails to daunt a lively heroine who knows her flowers. A clever, fast-moving plot and distinctive characters add up to fun.”
—JoAnna Carl, author of the Chocoholic Mysteries
“A cleverly plotted mystery.”
—The Mystery Reader
“[A] roller-coaster ride of a mystery with the feisty Irish lass Abby Knight at the helm.”
—Fresh Fiction
“Kate Collins has succeeded in keeping this wonderful series fresh as a daisy … upbeat, humorous, and appealing. Abby has definitely turned into one of the best amateur sleuths in the world of fiction.”
—Reader to Reader Reviews
Evil in Carnations
“Collins isn’t losing steam in her eighth foray into the world of florist and part-time accidental detective Abby Knight. The fun, family, and romance are still fresh, and the mystery is tidily wrapped up, with just enough suspense to keep readers flipping pages.”
—Romantic Times
“Ms. Collins’s writing remains above par with quality and consistency: fun and breezy, intriguing and suspenseful, excitement and sizzle.”
—Once Upon a Romance Reviews
Shoots to Kill
“Colorful characters, a sharp and funny heroine, and a sexy hunk boyfriend.”
—Maggie Sefton, author of the Knitting Mysteries
“Once again Kate Collins delivers an entertaining, amusing, and deliciously suspenseful mystery.”
—Cleo Coyle, author of the Coffeehouse Mysteries
A Rose from the Dead
“The tale is wrapped around the wonderful hallmarks of this series: a spirited heroine surrounded by zany characters, humor and irreverence.”
—Romantic Times
“The latest Flower Shop mystery is an amusing graveyard amateur sleuth that will have the audience laughing.”
—The Best Reviews
Acts of Violets
“Abby’s sharp observations bring laughs while the intriguing, tightly plotted mystery keeps you guessing.”
—Romantic Times
“A delightful, lighthearted cozy.”
—The Best Reviews
Snipped in the Bud
“Lighthearted and fast-paced, Collins’s new book is an entertaining read.”
—Romantic Times
Dearly Depotted
“Abby is truly a hilarious heroine…. Don’t miss this freshas-a-daisy read.”
—Rendezvous
“Ms. Collins’s writing style is crisp, her characters fun … and her stories are well thought-out and engaging.”
—Fresh Fiction
Slay It with Flowers
“What a delight! Ms. Collins has a flair for engaging characters and witty dialogue.”
—Fresh Fiction
“You can’t help but laugh … an enormously entertaining read.”
—Rendezvous
Mum’s the Word
“Abby Knight [is] rash, brash, and audacious. Move over, Stephanie Plum. Abby Knight has come to town.”
—Denise Swanson, author of the Scumble River Mysteries
“A bountiful bouquet of clues, colorful characters, and tantalizing twists… . Kate Collins carefully cultivates clues, plants surprising suspects, and harvests a killer in this fresh and frolicsome new Flower Shop Mystery series.”
—Ellen Byerrum, author of the Crime of Fashion Mysteries
“As fresh as a daisy, with a bouquet of irresistible characters.”
—Elaine Viets, author of the Dead-End Job Mysteries
“This story was cute and funny, had a good plotline [that] entwined a lot of interesting threads … an enjoyable read and a fine debut for this new mystery series.”
—Dangerously Curvy Novels
“A charming debut.”
—The Best Reviews
Other Flower Shop Mysteries
Mum’s the Word
Slay It with Flowers
Dearly Depotted
Snipped in the Bud
Acts of Violets
A Rose from the Dead
Shoots to Kill
Evil in Carnations
Sleeping with Anemone
Dirty Rotten Tendrils
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First Printing, April 2011
Copyright © Linda Tsoutsouris, 2011
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Dedicated to the memory of my beloved husband and soul mate, Jim. I will always love you.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’d like to thank the following people for helping this book come to life:
My technical experts: Harry E. Ramsey, MD, and James V. Tsoutsouris, Esq.
My editorial team: Nancy Cergizan and Jason Eberhardt
My promotional teams: Julie Eberhardt; Barbara Ferrari; Nulita, owner, Love in Bloom, Key West, Florida; Jennifer Badry, 7 Artists Studio, Key West, Florida
Valparaiso University SPARK team: Kevin Brown, Ryan Roman, Pete Volmut, and Professor Bonita Neff
Author, friend, and psychologist Mary Kennedy
My Cozy Chick buddies: Deb Baker, Lorna Barrett, Maggie Sefton, J. B. Stanley, Leann Sweeney, and Heather Webber
My editor: Ellen Edwards
My agent: Karen Solem
“We don’t accomplish anything in this world alone … and whatever happens is the result of the whole tapestry of one’s life and all the weavings of individual threads from one to another that creates something.”
—Sandra Day O’Connor
All my stories come from the weavings of individual threads—some from past events, newspaper stories, overheard conversations, and brainstorming sessions with friends and family, and the rest from the meanderings of my imagination. Some information is made deliberately vague to fit the purpose of the plot. Nevertheless, I strive for accuracy and apologize for any errors I may have made.
As with all my books, this is a collaborative effort. I thank all of you for your continued help and support.
CHAPTER ONE
Monday
Of course I could handle the flower shop for fifteen minutes. It was my shop.
Or so I said to Lottie, my assistant, who needed to deliver floral arrangements to the funeral home before five o’clock. Still, she was hesitant to leave me alone, and not out of fear of a burglary. Bloomers couldn’t have been in a safer location. The courthouse was directly across the street, the police station a block away, and my fiancé’s bar, Down the Hatch, two doors north.
No, Lottie’s fear was of someone causing me physical harm—that someone being me. Because of an ankle sprain I’d suffered two days before, I’d been ordered to stay off my right foot for two weeks, forcing me into an existence ruled by crutches and a wheelchair. So far, I’d slipped twice; fallen once; gotten wedged halfway inside the shop’s front door, unable to move in or out; crushed half a dozen fresh Red Beauty roses; and toppled the towering dieffenbachia in the corner near the glass display case. That was on crutches—in my first two hours at work.
So I’d ditched the crutches and switched to the wheelchair when I was inside the shop, for obvious reasons, and had thus far banged into three doorjambs, run over Lottie’s foot, and mangled Grace’s new eyeglasses. Hence Lottie’s hesitation. “I’d feel better if Grace were here,” she said from the back of the shop.
“I’d feel better if I hadn’t broken her glasses. Thank goodness she was able to get her new ones before Eye-Caramba closed today.”
Grace Bingham was my other assistant, a slender sixty-something Brit who had been a legal secretary in a law office where I’d clerked during my only year in law school. Grace had retired just before I bought Bloomers, then decided she was bored and came to work for me as the hostess of our coffee-and-tea parlor. Both Grace and the parlor were big hits with our customers.
But the parlor was empty now, and I’d be closing up shop soon anyway. “Lottie, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”
“It’s not you I’m worried about, sweetie. It’s Bloomers.” She winked.
Lottie Dombowski was a big-boned Kentuckian with a soft heart, brassy curls, and a penchant for pink. She had a true gift for floral design and was in the process of passing on her knowledge to me. Lottie had owned Bloomers until her husband’s health problems had nearly forced them into bankruptcy. And there I was, freshly booted out of law school and in need of employment. So I used the remainder of my grandfather’s trust fund to make a down payment on the shop, hired Lottie and Grace to work for me, and the rest was, well, owned by the bank.
“That Marco has a lot of making up to do for this,” Lottie said. “I hope he’s taking you somewhere special for dinner tonight.”
“No, thanks. Going somewhere special for dinner is how I sprained my ankle in the first place.”
Well, to be fair, it wasn’t the going that had caused the sprain. It was Marco accidentally bumping me, causing me to trip in my new bargain-find-of-the-century five-inch spike heels. To think my only desire had been to be fashionable—and taller—which hadn’t seemed unreasonable, given that I was twenty-seven years old and stood a mere five feet two inches. The ER doctor, however, hadn’t shared my feelings on that subject. He’d seen too many women with sprains and broken bones caused by stepping off ridiculously high heels.
I’d worn the sexy shoes only once before, to a disastrous dinner thrown by the parents of the girl Marco’s brother wanted to marry. I’d ended that evening by walking barefoot to the car and freezing my toes rather than taking a chance of slipping on the ice in those treacherous heels. This time I’d landed in the emergency room of County Hospital and waited three hours for a diagnosis. The high heels had landed in a donation box.
Marco was taking full responsibility for the accident and had been doing everything possible to make it up to me. He’d even rented the wheelchair and bought the crutches. And while I didn’t mind the pampering, I did mind my loss of independence. With my right foot in a boot built for Frankenstein’s monster and miles of Ace bandage wound underneath, I couldn’t fit it in the driver’s side of my old yellow Vette to work the pedals. Even drying my hair, which involved either propping my injured foot on the bathroom counter or squeezing a chair into our tiny bathroom, was a test of endurance. But it explained why my do looked more like a pile of red matchsticks than a sleek bob.
The worst part of all was that Marco was supposed to check in at the army base in three weeks, and I’d be spending two of those three immobilized. But at least we had three weeks. We’d feared his departure was imminent.
I still went cold all over when I recalled the moment he’d shown me the letter. It was from the Department of the Army, addressed to Lt. Marco Salvare, RA 55667591.
Dear Lt. Salvare:
You are hereby notified that the current shortage of manpower mandates that we redeploy those individuals who have been previously discharged but are still committed to a six-year term. Accordingly, you will be receiving notification shortly and a set of orders as to your next assignment as an active-duty officer.
Sincerely,
Gen. I. M. Bragg, Undersecretary
Dept. of the Army
Marco had served with the Army Rangers for two years, but until his full six-year commitment was up, he was subject to recall. I’d never imagined it actually happening, especially on the eve of our engagement, and now that it had, I was faced with the very real possibility of losing him. It was a thought so frightening that I struggled daily to block it from my mind.
For that reason, Marco and I had dec
ided to let only a select few in on the news, swearing them to secrecy until we knew exactly what the army’s plans were. We didn’t want our parents to worry needlessly or call incessantly to see if we’d heard anything, and my mom did incessant better than anyone. For those who knew about the letter, Marco’s brother and my assistants included, it was as surreal and shocking as it had been to us. No one cared to talk much about it.
The creak of rusty hinges on the back door as Lottie let herself out jerked me into the present again. The shop was quiet, so I wheeled myself to the big bay window to look outside, where a fine mist, overcast skies, and approaching dusk seemed to cast a pall of gloom over the town square. Even the stately limestone courthouse across the street seemed more of a ghost image than an actual building.