Perilous Arrangements: The Flower Shop Mystery Series, #6

By Annie Adams

Small town florist Quincy McKay's plans are pummeled when the interim principal cancels the Prom.

While Quincy and her quirky senior citizen sidekick try to remedy the problem, they're also helping a new intern circumvent some primadonna high school bullies. Unfortunately, Quincy has plenty of experience trying to do just that as she's reminded of her past when an old teammate waltzes in.

When the biggest bully at the school is murdered, Quincy is unwittingly pulled into the mosh pit. Can she help her friends beat the rap while expelling the persecutor of her past?.

If you like cozy mysteries with a bit of adventure, a touch of romance and laugh out loud fun, you'll love Annie Adams' latest tango with murder.

Buy Perilous Arrangements to take a twirl with a rollicking good mystery today.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Annie Adams
• Release date: Aug 30, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393120476

Annie Adams

Annie Adams is the author of The Flower Shop Mystery Series and the Rosie McKay Mystery Series. She lives with her husband, two giant dogs, and two, too giant cats in Northern Utah at the foot of the Wasatch Mountains. When not writing she can be found arranging flowers or delivering them in her own Zombie Delivery Van.

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Prologue

After the Meeting With Evelyn Krumm

Iwould never break into a client's home, but that is exactly what it felt like we were doing. We had permission to go into the house. But I had a bad feeling, like we weren't supposed to be there.

Having just walked through a fantasy world of flower gardens in back of a giant home shaped like a castle, Danny and K.C. and I were there to retrieve a left-behind notebook and get on our way. Preferably while not being seen or heard by Evelyn Krumm, the actual harpy, I was sure, who owned the home.

Should we knock? I asked my friend Danny.

He made a dismissive puff of air. I wouldn't invite the opportunity for Develyn to come to the door. She told me we could just come in and grab the notebook, and that we don't need to check in. She said she'll be busy, and doesn't need to be disturbed while she works.

Have I been saying her name wrong this whole time? K.C. said at her usual volume.

Shhh! both Danny and I said at the same time.

No, I whispered, in an attempt to bring her volume level down, closer to average human speech versus that of a jet engine.

Standing outside this house made to look like a castle, I felt like a hobbit trying to sneak in and grab what we needed without alerting the sleeping dragon.

Oh, hamhocks! K.C. exclaimed.

Seriously? Danny whisper-shouted.

Sorry, but I left my phone in the folly. And besides, I want to take a few pictures. It's not every day you get to see the inside of a castle.

Danny managed to do a full-body sigh without making any noise. He had been trained in the theater, and had probably learned to mime, so at least once in a while he got the opportunity to show off his talents.

Okay, but hustle your bustle. We'll wait, he said.

Okey-dokey! She saluted and took off as fast as a woman of her certain age could. She'd opted for her own hair today, instead of one of her many wigs. It was done up in a silver and light pink beehive. She looked like walking cotton-candy from the state fair.

She shouldn't take pictures of the inside of the house, should she? We don't need to get in any more trouble with Ev—g

Don't say it! She'll appear out of the ether surrounded by a black cloud of smoke, Danny said.

Okay, Mrs. Krumm, then, I said.

First of all, she won't even be in there. Her husband told me that she would be occupied—his word—and that we could slip in and grab the notebook on our own. And B, I know her type. She wants people to take pictures, it gives her a thrill. Why do you think she invited us to her home for the meeting and not her office at the high school, since it was school business?

He was probably right.

My best friend and cohort, Danny Barnes and I and several other people, had been here the day before for a meeting that none of us wanted to attend.

This is going to take forever. Let's just get a head start and go in there. K.C. can catch up to us inside, Danny said.

K.C. is the delivery driver at my flower shop. She's a grandma with plenty of spunk and a personality that could fill the Grand Canyon.

Let's just wait a little more. She's almost there, I said.

Just then, in the distance, K.C. stopped, crouched and put her hands on her knees to rest. She raised one arm just enough that we could see her waving us in.

Danny and I went in the side door he had designated the staff entrance when we had come for our meeting the day before. The door seemed to creak louder than it had the last time. I knew it was all in my head, but somehow, it just seemed creepy in this castle, even more so today.

We went down the hall, straightaway to the couch in the great hall where we had sat during the meeting. The furniture had been moved around since then, and the table we had used as a desk and a resting place for our plates of snacks was gone.

It's not here, Danny said.

Of course it wasn't. Why would anything involving Evelyn Krumm be easy?

Let's look around, he said.

We visited every possible space in the sitting area in the main room, looking under furniture, and on the top of shelves. The large room had a spiral staircase leading to a balcony on one side, and opposite the balcony was the kitchen area. It was all one open plan space, but today, a curtain divided the cavernous living area, blocking the kitchen from view.

That curtain wasn't there before, I said. Or maybe it hadn't been pulled open.

I didn't notice any curtains before. I think this is new. Believe me, Marian, I memorized every square inch of the decor in this room and decided how I would change it within about five minutes of entering.

I was pleased to hear Danny refer to me as one of his favorite characters from a Broadway musical again. It had been too long since we'd spent time together, and I realized how much I had missed our conversations.

You know, I think I did overhear something about a remodeling crew coming to the kitchen or something like that when we were here earlier. It would be handy to be able to shut the kitchen off from the main room from time to time.

If only they had chosen something less tacky to hang there.

"Danny," I said while looking around for Evelyn, who had to have overheard.

I know, I know. Anyway, I think it's just a painter's drop-cloth kind of a thing. And don't worry, I truly don't even think she's here. He clicked his tongue in frustration. I really need that notebook. I've got notes from another meeting I had before this one and I really don't want to have to call my clients and tell them I lost all of their info. Not a good start to the relationship.

Okay. I wonder if someone put it in the office thinking it belonged there. I know where that is.

The office door was ajar, but I knocked anyway. I couldn't imagine walking in on Mrs. Krumm in her home office. It would be worse than sitting in her principal's office at the high school, which I had recently done. I couldn't go through that again.

Danny swung the door open and leapt into the room just to make fun of me and my reticence. He struck a Bob Fosse-style pose and wiggled his jazz hands.

I gave him a dull look. Let's just find your notebook and go. I feel like a little kid snooping where I know I shouldn't. And I'm creeped out. Look, is this it? I saw the corner of a black notebook on the middle of the desk. It was mostly covered by a white piece of typing paper. I pulled the notebook out and as I did, the paper slipped off of the desk onto the floor.

No, it's a little smaller than that. Kind of yea-big. He held his hands up indicating a square size, like an old-time Hollywood director framing his shot with his hands. Let's go look in the kitchen. Maybe someone put it on the counter while they were moving the furniture around.

Okay, I'll catch up to you, I've got to find the paper I just knocked off the desk.

He left and I got on my hands and knees and crawled into the place where the chair tucks in. It was just my luck that the paper floated directly under the desk. I grasped the corner of the sheet of paper that was barely showing, and as I pulled it out, it caught on something and I tore the corner off. I swore under my breath. Now Evelyn would know I had been in here and messed with her private things. Ever since I had been involved with this woman, a curse and been placed over me.

As I crawled out, (hitting my head on the edge of the desk, of course), I accidentally saw what was printed on the paper. It read:

"At long last, I have suffered enough.

Heavy is the head that wears the crown."

It was signed Evelyn Krumm in bright blue ink.

What a strange little note. It encompassed her tight-lipped, bossy, passive-aggressive style all in two short sentences. I put the paper back on the desk where I had found it.

Boss! Are you ... alright? I heard you ... scream, K.C. said through heaves of heavy breath, after we'd slammed into each other in the hallway.

That wasn't me! I ran toward the kitchen only to find Danny clutching the edge of the curtain, bent over and gagging.

Danny what is it?

All he seemed to be able to do was shake his head and point over his shoulder. His eyes were screwed shut.

Oh Lord in Heaven, I heard K.C. say.

I looked past K.C. I saw a ladder. And then I saw Evelyn Krumm, looking as if she was gazing out the window at her lovely gardens, but hanging from a silky, white length of fabric tied around her neck.

Chapter One

Before the Meeting With Evelyn Krumm

The day started out with so much promise.

I think that might have to be the epitaph on my gravestone. Mourners will gather around and say, She always meant for things to go right, then shake their heads in silent accord that indeed, despite my best efforts, things never went the way I wanted them to.

Jerome and I arrived early to work, (I know!) I'm still astonished. We parked behind the hundred-or-so year old building that houses my flower shop and some other small businesses, and took a last little walk around the perimeter of the parking lot, in case Jerome might still need to use the facilities.

I'm Quincy, short for Quinella (I know!) McKay. I live and work in Hillside, a small Northern Utah town, where I run the floral business my aunt Rosie started called Rosie's Posies. I think we can all agree that the name Rosie paints a much more floral picture than Quincy. And we'll never even mention my full name again.

Life is good for me. I'm fortunate to have the attention of two males in my life. They both have brown eyes. One of them is sexy and masculine, the other is sweet and so good at cuddling. One of them is my fiancé Alex Cooper and the other is Jerome. He's my Newfoundland puppy. Actually, he's not a puppy any more. He's not quite fully grown, but at the last veterinarian visit he weighed nearly a hundred and fifty pounds.

Instead of entering the building through the back door, today we walked around to the front of the building, in order to admire the new display we'd put up in the window the afternoon before. Tissue paper flowers in every shape and size hung on ribbons from the ceiling behind glittering letters spelling out the words Prom Time.

It's so cool. Isn't it, Jerome? He gave me an approving nod (I'm sure of it) and then waited patiently, standing on my foot in his peculiar way, while I unlocked the front door.

With a contented smile on my face, I pulled open the door only to be assaulted by an aroma similar to what comes out of the rarely serviced outhouses at a remote mountain campground.

As I dry heaved, I searched for the little wedge we normally use to prop the door open, when the fumes from the neighboring salon make their way into our space. But the wedge wasn't in its usual place, as we had just rearranged everything at the front of the store for the new window display.

I coughed and wiped away tears as I made my way through the unrelenting odor, which seemed to have permeated my entire shop. This smell had actual weight to it, it pushed against my body as I waded through. Jerome tugged on his leash—even a dog didn't want to wade through the smell—so I unclipped it from his collar and let him continue his morning routine while I continued my laborious passage through the olfactory jungle that had sprouted overnight.

I propped open the back door and turned on a fan.

Old buildings are tricky, and phantom smells without a source are an occasional problem. Once the funky onslaught subsided, I began preparations for the big day ahead of us. I was back in the little alcove one could loosely describe as an office, gathering items to take to my alma mater, Hillside High School, for the career fair. We could load up the van once K.C., my infamous delivery driver, or Daphne, our soon-to-be head floral designer, arrived.

Hello? An unfamiliar voice called out.

I hurried to the front, realizing it wasn't Daphne or K.C., but a customer. A woman with badly-bleached blond hair and heavy makeup stood at the front counter, her poppy red suit looking like something from the pages of Vogue.

Quincy? the woman said with hesitation.

I took a closer look and realized I was looking down at the carefully crafted eyebrows of Candy Thompson, former high school basketball teammate, and most importantly, the bully at the root of most of my unpleasant high school memories. The kind of memories that stick like toffee in your back tooth. It takes more than a few tries to get rid of them.

Candy, I said airily, trying to pretend this was an anonymous customer and not the arrogant, selfish, overly-competitive, red witch from my past. It's good to see you.

I started to say, So good to see you, but I didn't want to go that far. What brings you back to our little town?

It is so small, isn't it? she said while squinting her eyes and wrinkling her nose as if she'd smelled sour milk. I came back to help my mother recover from a medical procedure. It was hard to tear myself away, but I couldn't say no to Mom now, could I? It would be hard to say no to Candy's mother from what I remembered. I thought I'd get her some flowers to brighten her room.

That's really thoughtful of you. Maybe she'd turned over a new leaf or just matured with time.

So... She wandered around the display room with the assessing eye of an appraiser. How long have you worked here?

Since I was sixteen.

I can totally see why. You don't have any stress, you just come here and play with flowers all day. You must have a great boss, as I'm sure you don't get paid very much. Or you have a rich husband. She laughed her annoying laugh that sounded something like a pig choking on an under-chewed corn cob. I remembered it all too well.

I wanted to set her straight and tell her how great the boss around here really is and how it's none of her business how much I get paid and that I have a smokin' hot fiancé who wouldn't give her the time of day. But that would just invite more questions and cause her to spend even more time in my life. I'd learned the best thing to do with Candy Thompson was to let her get her bragging out of her system, and then at some point she'd move on to her next unsuspecting victim and tell them all about her superior qualities.

Candy, how have you been? What are you doing these days?

It's Candace. I'm an attorney, in the city. Although everyone who's anyone is buying a place in the suburbs and commuting. You know how it is. Finding an old cracker box-sized house and remodeling every inch of it and then selling it for a mint is such the thing to do right now. But who wants to be trendy? Am I right?

Yeah, who would want that? I sure don't. Which city are you in?

The pig horking started up again. You're so funny. You were always so funny in high school. I live in Manhattan, of course.

Why did I have to ask her for details? I'd pretty much opened the door wide and invited her to come in and knock me down. Now I wouldn't even have to pack up the van and go over to the high school, it felt as if I was already back there.

It looks like you're not married, she said.

I gave her a blank stare. She held up her ringless hand and pointed to the forth finger.

Oh right. I tried to laugh off my embarrassment, but I knew my cheeks were already the color of a Red Freedom Rose. The last thing I wanted was to look stupid in front of her, and I was already on a direct train to Stupidville. I'm engaged. I don't wear my ring at work, I don't want to lose it.

Right, she said. She managed to expand that one syllable word into a paragraph's worth of condescension and disbelief.

What kind of flowers would you like to take to your mom? I had to get this torture over with.

She poured over every inch of what was visible through the display windows in my cooler. After an eternity she said, I want that one, back there. She pointed to an arrangement that had been too big to fit on the shelf, so we'd had to put on the floor, making it just barely visible from the display window. The arrangement was custom made for someone else who would be picking it up later today.

No one but Candy Thompson would have looked past a dozen arrangements on display and several buckets of greenery and other flowers to search out the one thing she couldn't have. But that's what Candy Thompson did. She found something I didn't want her to see, no matter the amount of disguise, and decided she must have it for herself. Kind of like the boy I had a crush on in high-school. She found out I liked Chad, dumped her boyfriend, went after Chad, and once he was wrapped around her finger, she dumped him too.

I took great pleasure in telling her that arrangement wasn't for sale. I put together a different arrangement, rather quickly I might add, with pink hydrangea and violet lisianthus in a gorgeous vase I had found at a second-hand shop. It was antique, blown glass, in a cerulean blue color. I thought it looked like something Candy's mother might like.

She stared at the bouquet as I set it on the counter, giving it more than a once-over, just as she had the interior of my shop. Without a smile, a raised eyebrow, or anything that might indicate what she thought of the bouquet, she tossed an American Express card on the counter. Heaven forbid she just hand it to me.

I noticed the name on the card was Vivian Thompson. I ran it through, and as I handed it back I said, I didn't realize you and your mother share a name.

What? She snatched the credit card from my hand and shoved it into the designer hand bag dangling on her left forearm. Oh, I must have given you my mom's card by mistake. I'm taking care of her, she gave me all of her cards. Such a pain, I'm running all over town for her.

Would you like me to refund the purchase and use your card?

No, I'll just pay her back. Well, gotta run. She picked up the arrangement, turned and walked toward the front door. No thank you, nice to see you, or even an I hate this arrangement. Which was not surprising at all. I realized I'd been holding my breath and exhaled as she placed a hand on the door.

Nice window display, McKay, she called out just before she left.

I felt a little smile hitch at the corner of my mouth. Maybe she could be decent after all. I could ignore the use of my last name, which she only did when she was being mean to me in high school.

After enough time had passed for Candy to have left our parking lot, so she couldn't see me through the front window, I walked up to the front of the store to turn the open sign. Before I got there, I noticed a new foul aroma. Unfortunately, my suspicions about the source of that smell proved true. Jerome, I whispered in despair. He had taken a bathroom break and left a huge pile right at the foot of our beautiful front window display.

---

NEW CHAPTER

Chapter Two

O utta my way, coming through.

There was no mistaking the voice coming from the back entrance to the gymnasium at Hillside High School. It wasn't just the volume of K.C.'s voice. You could have heard her over a passing train, but it was the grumpy tone that stood out.

She marched up to the table, her arms full, laden with boxes containing corsages and boutonnieres.

What happened? I asked.

She sighed with the force of an east wind shooting down the sides of the Wasatch Mountains. I decided to take the back way on Church Street, instead of coming up Gentile. I nodded in understanding. Bulgy Burger was just around the corner from the high school and was having their parking lot re-paved, so everyone was parking their cars on the street. Traffic was a mess.

I came up on Hawthorne and this car full of kids blows through the stop sign and turns left in front of me. I had to slam on the brakes and everything in the van went flying.

We were setting up our booth for the career fair and K.C. had gone to pick up the forgotten corsages and boutonnieres we'd promised to the student officers and faculty advisors responsible for organizing the fair.

I'm sure everything is okay. It looks like you packed it all really well, I said.

"I think it's all fine, I'm not upset about that. It's just that the little creep who was driving the car had his middle finger out the window before he even turned in front of me. Like it's his regular modus operandi. His tires squealed as he tore around the corner and he yelled something at me. I couldn't tell what, my windows were rolled up. But I could hear the stereo in the car blasting—well, I could feel the thump, thump, thump of the speakers. You know, my granddaughters are almost the same age as the kids in that car. If I ever see that boy again, I'll give him a piece of my mind. And maybe my foot will find a resting place in his—"

K.C., we are in a school...

Don't worry, Boss. I'm just blowin' off steam. I wouldn't ever lay my hands on a kid like that—unless they really deserved it.

K.C. was outspoken, opinionated and very colorful—mostly with her hair and her many wigs—but sometimes with her language when it warranted. R.I.P. was all I could think for that kid if K.C. ever did run into him.

On top of all that, I couldn't find a place to park. She hurriedly put the packages down and pulled a handkerchief out from the neck of her shirt, unfurling it in front of her with a magician's flourish, then patting down her forehead and neck.

Come sit down. I indicated toward the two folding chairs behind the table. She nodded and went straight to the chairs.

Springtime is smack-dab in the middle of the busiest season for a flower shop and the timing of this career fair was not exactly convenient. The junior prom would be in two weeks, and Mother's Day would follow right on the heels of the dance. But I'd decided to go for it when Liddy Parker, a teacher and faculty advisor for activities, called about the career fair, in hopes that the exposure to the students just before the prom would lead to more orders for corsages and boutonnieres.

Is that a...bear? the golden-blond haired woman the next booth over asked.

I laughed at the question, which was becoming all too familiar lately. Jerome lay between the two tables of our respective booths, much like a giant ottoman or bear-skin rug.

This is Jerome. He lazily lifted his head and peeked up from under heavy lids at the mention of his name. He's a Newfoundland.

"He seems very sweet. Is he