Free Daisies for Innocence by Bailey Cattrell Page B

reflected as I made my way down the path to my current abode.
    My steps faltered as my situation really hit home. If I didn’t fix this, I could go to prison. I stopped and looked around the garden I loved so much and at my dream business, closed for the day. I’d be darned if I was going to give up all that I’d worked so hard for over the last year.
    I grabbed my car keys and a light jacket, then let Dash out to enjoy the garden. He followed behind me as I returned to the back patio. It would be nice when I could use the garden gate again.
    “Now, will you just look at that!” I stopped and reached for the bowl of the fused-glass birdbath at the edge of the patio. Someone had knocked it askew, and it teetered precariously on its stand, on the verge of falling and shattering into a bazillion pieces. Carefully, I snugged it firmly back into place. “I’ll have to remember to refill it when I get back.”
    I checked once more to make sure the birdbath wasstable and noticed a thread-thin bright green tendril breaking through the moss at its base.
Probably bindweed,
I thought.
Better pull it out before it can spread.
    “I won’t be long,” I told Dash. He gazed up at me with liquid brown eyes. “I promise.”
    He grinned easygoing agreement, then went to his bed on the back patio, turned around three times, and lay down with his chin on his paws to await my return.
    Astrid was waiting out front, checking the messages on her phone. When I came outside, she stuck the phone in the pocket of her skirt, and we quickly walked to the Wrangler.
    Once she’d climbed into the seat, she held up a key hanging from a purple beaded fob. She turned her hand so I could see the name stitched onto it.
    JOSIE
    Then she put it on her lap and folded her hands over it. “Do you know where she lived?” my friend asked. “Or do you need directions?”
    “I took her home a couple of times when her car was in the shop,” I said.
    Her car.
When I’d returned from the Roux Grill, the Fiesta hadn’t been parked down the street anymore. As I pulled away from the curb, I imagined it sitting in the police impound lot out by the fairgrounds and wondered who would end up with it. Most people her age didn’t have wills if they didn’t have children, and try as I might, I couldn’t remember Josie talking about her parents or any siblings.
    •   •   •
    I PARKED the Wrangler in the lot of a convenience store, and Astrid and I hoofed it down the block. Josie had lived in an eight-plex on the west side of Poppyville, four up and four down. Hers was an upstairs end unit. Astrid and I looked at each other.
    “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” she said.
    I glared at her. “This was
your
idea.”
    At least to start with.
    She shrugged.
    Now that we were here, I was curious about what we might find in Josie’s home. Though I’d dropped her off, I’d never been inside. I could only hope we might find something to help clear my Harris-smudged name.
    “Come on,” I said, and strode up the steps as if we were expected.
    Astrid hurried after, then stood behind me as I worked the key into the door lock and gave it a twist. Quickly, we slipped inside.
    Standing with our backs to the closed door, we surveyed the living room. Though small, it was quite a bit larger than mine, boasting a sofa and recliner, with a nondescript floor lamp between them. The carpet was sculpted, neutral beige, and the walls were painted a slightly lighter shade of the same color. To the left, a nook held a small table and four chairs, and the open kitchen farther down on the left offered additional seating at the short counter that divided it from the living room.
    The walls were covered with enlarged photographs, most of which depicted nature or animals. We took a fewtentative steps into the room. The air smelled of toast. The strains of seventies rock and roll sifted through the thin wall from the adjoining apartment.
    “What are we looking for?” Astrid