Evil in Carnations
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
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
Teaser chapter
Praise for the Flower Shop Mysteries
Shoots to Kill
“Colorful characters, a sharp and funny heroine, and a sexy hunk boyfriend … Shoots to Kill is a great mystery read!”
—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
continued …
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 fresh-as-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
“Upbeat, jocular … an uplifting, amusing, and feel-good amateur sleuth tale.”—The Best Reviews
“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
“Collins has created a delightful amateur sleuth.”
—Romantic Times
Mum’s the Word
“Kate Collins plants all the right seeds to grow a fertile garden of mystery… . Abby Knight is an Indiana florist who cannot keep her nose out of other people’s business. She’s rash, brash, and audacious. Move over, Stephanie Plum. Abby Knight has come to town.”
—Denise Swanson, author of the Scumble River Mysteries
“An engaging debut planted with a spirited sleuth, quirky sidekicks, and page-turning action … delightfully addictive … a charming addition to the cozy subgenre. Here’s hoping we see more of intrepid florist Abby Knight and sexy restaurateur Marco Salvare.”
—Nancy J. Cohen, author of the Bad Hair Day 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.”
—Ellen Byerrum, author of A Crime of Fashion Mystery series
“As fresh as a daisy, with a bouquet of irresistible characters.” —Elaine Viets, author of the Dead-End Job Mysteries
“This engaging read has a list of crazy characters that step off the pages to the delight of the reader. Don’t miss this wannabe sleuth’s adventures.”—Rendezvous
“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
“This amusing new author has devised an excellent cast of characters and thrown them into a cleverly tumultuous plot … a terrific debut!”—Romantic Times
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
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First Printing, February 2009
Copyright © Linda Tsoutsouris, 2009
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To all my friends in Key West—Jennifer at 7 Artists, Mary at Mary O’Shea’s Glass Garden, Nanci and Sandi: I thank you for your continuing friendship, support, and encouragement, and also for the inspiration for some of the art I describe in my books
. You know what I’m talking about.
To my husband, Jim; my children, Jason and Julie; and my sister, Nancy: I know it’s a cliché, but I couldn’t do this without you. Thanks for brainstorming, reviewing, editing, inspiring, spreading the word, and generally putting up with my crazy schedule.
To my editor, Ellen, who continues to amaze me with her insight: I thank you for keeping my plots on the right track.
To Abby and Marco, Jillian and Nikki, Grace and Lottie, and all those other little people who chatter constantly in my head (and sometimes drive me up the wall): Well, let’s keep those stories coming, people! Don’t make me come in there!
To my readers, whose excitement keeps me charged up for the next adventure: I hope this book will make you eager for more.
CHAPTER ONE
Monday, January 31st
“Isn’t there a law that says public hallways have to be lighted?” Marco complained. “Now there are two bulbs out. How are you supposed to find your key in the dark?”
I stopped rummaging through my duffel bag to whisper, “You’d better keep your voice down or you’ll wake the neighbors.”
In a complete change of mood, my hunky, ex-Army Ranger boyfriend swept aside my hair to press hot kisses against my neck. “You didn’t seem to mind waking the neighbors yesterday, Fireball.”
“I didn’t know those neigh …” Oh, baby. His kisses were sending tingles to erotic zones I didn’t even know existed … and I thought he’d found them all. Hard to believe that less than a month ago, I was certain Marco and I were history.
Where was my key? I really had to get a smaller bag.
“Why don’t we go back to my apartment,” Marco murmured in my ear, “and extend our vacation another day?”
Now, there was an offer that was hard to refuse. Who wouldn’t want to prolong a romantic weekend with a hot-tie like Marco Salvare? He was all man, all the time, a guy who was both tough and sensitive, who could cook up a mean omelet and take down a killer all in the same day.
Besides, after our seven-hour red-eye flight back to Indiana from Key West, I wasn’t exactly looking forward to putting in a long day at the flower shop—I don’t do well on only a few hours’ sleep—but as Bloomers’ owner, I couldn’t ignore my responsibilities either. So as much as it pained me, I had to decline.
Abandoning my key hunt, I wound my arms around his neck and gazed up at him, his sexy brown eyes barely visible in the darkness. “I really, really wish I could, Marco, but you know how hectic Mondays are. And besides, Lottie and Grace are expecting me. But it’s a nice thought.” Almost too nice to let go.
“Yeah, I figured as much.”
Reluctantly, I released him to start rummaging again. “What time is it, anyway? Is it six o’clock yet? I still have to unpack, shower… .”
Marco ran his hands over my shoulders and down my arms, his body close to mine, the seductive aroma of his spicy aftershave calling forth sweet memories of our weekend. “How about that?” he murmured in my ear. “I was planning to shower, too.”
My fingers closed around the key at last and I pressed it into his palm. “You know what they say: Two can shower as cheaply as one.”
“I think we should test that notion right now.” He started to unlock the door, then paused. “Nikki will be asleep, right?”
“Déjà vu. You asked me that same question last Saturday night.”
“And the answer was?”
“Nikki is depressed and dateless. She’ll be sound asleep until noon.”
“Sound asleep … as in, nothing will wake her?”
“Except for smoke alarms.”
“Then we’ll have to be careful to not set them off.”
“Like we almost did Saturday night?”
“Like we almost did twice Saturday night.” Marco tilted my chin and kissed me, a deep, hot, stirring kiss that made me glad there were no smoke alarms directly overhead.
Somehow he managed to unlock the door, back me inside, drag our bags in with his foot, close the door, and lock it without breaking our kiss. I dropped my peacoat and purse on the floor and we began fumbling at each other’s clothing, still kissing hot and heavy.
All at once, someone pounded on the door, shouting, “New Chapel police. Open up!”
With a gasp I jumped back as though I’d done something illegal. Our watchcat, Simon, who had just come around the corner to greet us, arched his back menacingly at the disturbance, then changed his mind and fled the scene, his claws skittering on the hallway tile. Some protector he was.
“What’s going on?” Marco exclaimed, buttoning his shirt as he started for the door.
“Could it be Reilly playing some stupid joke? But how would he have gotten into the building without our buzzing him in?”
Marco peered through the peephole, muttered about the bulb being out, then flipped the switch for my front hallway light and opened the door, leaving the chain in place. “It’s not Reilly,” he said quietly, so I ducked beneath his arm to peer through the crack.
Two men in blue uniforms stood outside, neither of whom was our buddy, Sergeant Sean Reilly of the New Chapel Police Department. One cop appeared to be in his mid-thirties, about five years older than Marco. The other had a boyish build, a smooth baby face, and a belligerent stance that young cops often adopt to make them seem experienced.
Quickly, I backed out of sight. What had I done this time?
“What’s up?” Marco asked nonchalantly. Men in uniform didn’t intimidate him. He’d served on the New Chapel police force for about a year after his Army Ranger days—until all the rules and regulations, as well as a vindictive watch commander, got to him.
“We’re looking for Nikki Hiduke,” a mature voice said.
Nikki? That was novel.
“What business do you have with Nikki?” Marco asked.
“Is she here or not?” a tenor voice demanded. The younger officer was clearly unwilling to divulge any info. He probably had no clue he was talking to an ex-cop.
“She might be here,” Marco replied coolly.
Just to be sure, I looked around and spotted Nikki’s keys on the table.
“Is it all right if we step inside?” the deep voice asked politely. “You might not want the neighbors in on this.”
Yikes. That didn’t sound good.
Marco unchained the door, pulled it open, and stepped back to allow them to enter, putting me in full view. Out in the hallway, Mr. Bodenhammer, the building superintendent, tried to get a peek inside before Marco shut the door, solving the mystery as to how the police got in.
“How’s it going, Pete?” Marco said, obviously recognizing the older cop.
“Business as usual. That’s why we’re here.”
“Are you Nikki?” the rookie asked me. He was definitely new to the force, because only a newbie would see my bright red hair and freckles and not know who I was. Not that I was a celebrity or anything. More like the town’s trouble magnet.
“I’m Abby Knight,” I said. “Nikki’s my roommate.”
“You’re the florist, right?” the cop named Pete asked.
It was such a pleasure to hear myself labeled as something other than “the troublemaker who flunked out of law school” that I nodded eagerly. In a college town like mine, being a flunk-out was the equivalent of being the village idiot.
“Yeah, I thought that was you.” To his partner he added, “She’s the one keeps sticking her nose into police business.”
“Excuse me,” I said, taking exception to his remark. “I helped solve a few murder cases by sticking my nose into police business. And I’ll have you know that my dad was a sergeant on the police force before a drug dealer’s bullet put him out of commission.”
“Abby,” Marco said quietly, laying a hand on my arm as though he feared I might take a swing at the guy. Although I measured in at a mere five feet, two inches, Marco knew that I knew how to throw a punch.
At that moment, Nikki came around the corner sleepily rubbi
ng her eyes, her spiked blond hair sticking up more than usual. She’d tied her purple robe tightly around her tall, slender body and stuck her feet into giant dark purple slippers, making her long legs look like cocktail picks capped by kalamata olives.
“What’s all the noise about?” she asked with a yawn.
Marco glanced around in surprise, then gave me a pointed look, obviously remembering my comment about the smoke alarms. Okay, so she was awakened by smoke alarms and police raids.
“Nikki Hiduke?” The younger cop tried again.
She squinted at him, unable to see anything without her contacts but blurred shapes. “Yes?”
He showed her his badge, which she had to bring up close to her face. “Would you get your coat and come with us to the police station, please? We have some questions we’d like to ask you.”
She looked from one to the other in confusion. “In my pajamas?”
I knew Nikki wasn’t completely awake or she would have asked a far more pertinent question, which was exactly what Marco did: “You want to tell us what this is about?” he said.
I stepped in front of Nikki in a valiant act of self-sacrifice. “And why does she have to go with you to answer questions? Why can’t you talk to her here?”
“We need to talk to her,” the rookie said immediately, thumbs hooked in his thick leather belt, “down at the station.”
“I got that part the first time,” I said. “But what about? She has the right to know.”